You're The Devil In Disguise
by Optimistic Lyricist
Summary: Following Return of a Friend, it's been 3 months since Sherlock had revealed himself as alive to the public. Suddenly, one day, John starts acting...strange. Not himself. It gets to the point where Sherlock has to call two brothers from America for help.
1. Chapter 1

_You leave him alone..._

_Stay away from him..._

_Get the Hell away from me..._

_Get the Hell OUT of me..._

_Why don't you just stay dead..._

_Can anyone hear me..._

_Sherlock...help...me..._

"John! You alright?"

Said Mycroft Holmes to John Watson, who zoned out for a second staring in the mirror.

"Yeah...yeah. I'm fine. "

"I never struck you as the vain type to stare at your refelection. You always looked rather...peckish."

John grins and sarcastically laughs.

"No, I've just been thinking."

Mycroft looks annoyed.

"Yeah, well I hope you haven't come to my apartment just to think. We both have better things to do. I know I do anyway. By the way, you still haven't told me exactly why you're here?"

"Ah, yes. Of course. May we sit?"

"Yeah, I was just gonna have some tea. Care for a cup?"

"Yes, I'd love one."

They both walk into the kitchen and sit at the table. Mycroft grabs the kettle in center of the table and pours a cup for himself and one for John. He passes the cup to John.

"Thank you."

Mycroft takes a sip of his tea; John just sets his down.

"So, there something you wanted?"

"Yes, me and Sherlock need you to leave town for a bit."

Mycroft looks baffled.

"I beg your pardon?!"

"Well, it's just that strange things have been happening lately and we're worried that you'll be in danger."

"Danger? What danger?!"

"We don't know and we don't want to find out. We got a warning that something terrible is going to happen and we don't want to risk yours or anyone's safety at this point."

Mycroft scoffs.

"Please. I'm not going anywhere! My home, my things, and my business are here in London and I'm not going anywhere!"

"But Mycroft!"

"But nothing!"

"But we don't want you to get hurt or in the way."

"In the way?"

"Of the investigation. You're in danger that means you could get too close to this."

"If you think I'm gonna get run out of my home because of some unnamed 'danger', you're clearly as delusional as my brother."

"Mycroft, you have to-"

"I don't have to do a damn thing! YOU on the other hand have to get the Hell out of my house!"

"Fine, fine. I understand."

John picks up his tea cup and sips it.

"I'm sorry Mycroft...I tried to warn you...you brought this on yourself..."

He throws his hot tea in Mycroft's face. Mycroft falls to the ground in agony.

John gets up out of his seat and punches Mycroft in the face.

"You always were a formality Mycroft."

Punches him again.

"Always in the way...badgering us in that 'almighty' presence of yours."

Punches him again.

"As if you were The Queen herself when in reality..."

Punches him again; by this point Mycroft is a bloody mess.

"You're barely a peasant. Like a child who was picked on one too many times and grew up to put himself on the highest horse with the slightest power."

He picks up Mycroft.

"Time to fall off that bloody horse."

He throws him across the table. Mycroft is now unconscious and bloody on the ground.

John walks away with a shit eating grin on his face.


	2. Chapter 2

We are in a brightly lit hospital. A dark figure barges in the building and up to the desk with a look of puzzled, worried, and anger in his face all at once.

"Where is Mycroft Holmes?"

"Excuse me, who are you? If you plan to visit, only members of kin can-"

"He's my brother! Just give me the ROOM NUMBER!"

The desk employee is startled.

"Room 202! He just arrived a couple hours-"

"Thank you."

The man barges through the doors and enters the hospital corridors.

"Wait, sir, there's a waiting list!"

He's barging and pushing doctors out of his way, ignoring warnings that he just can't be here right now.

He gets to Room 202 and goes inside to find a man with his leg in a cast and bruised and smeared blood throughout his face. He makes his way toward the patients bedside to be stopped by a nurse.

"Excuse me, you can't be in here. The patient needs to recovery."

"I'm his brother. At least let me stay here."

"I understand, but-"

The patient speaks through muffled cries through the pain in his voice.

"Sher...sher...SHERLOCK! Is that you?!"

Sherlock, in a broken whisper...

"Yes Mycroft, I'm here."

"Let him in, dammit!"

The nurse steps aside. Sherlock rushes to his brother's bedside. The nurse goes out the door.

"I'll leave you two alone."

Sherlock is speechless, it's hard for him to see his brother in this broken, bloodied mess in a hospital bed.

"What happened? Who did this to you?"

Mycroft struggles to get the words out.

"That bloody assistant of yours, John Watson!"

Sherlock is dumbstruck, his heart nearly stops. He can't believe his ears.

"What?"

"You heard me."

"He...he...he couldn't have...he's not even that...this had to be the work of some heavily built..."

"Don't you use your bloody deduction demonstrations! Not now! I saw him with my own eyes, in my home, and he beat the Hell out of me! Mark my words, the moment I get out of this bed, I will make sure the bastard is incarcerated for the rest of his life! No...no...I will make sure he is beheaded for what he did to me!"

"Mycroft, calm down."

"Don't tell me to calm down!"

The machine next to him constantly beeps over and over again. Mycroft is going into cardiac arrest after over-exciting himself. Doctors and nurses rush to him to stabilize his heart rate while Sherlock just stands there unphased by his surroundings; dazed and confused.

The John Watson he knows wouldn't have, couldn't have done this to my brother...to anyone, Sherlock thought.

Mycroft is going to be fine (eventually). Sherlock, for the moment, not sure much. John, when Sherlock finds him, not even close...


	3. Chapter 3

Room 221B

John is pouring tea when Sherlock bursts in and slams the door to see his 'friend' pouring a cup of tea at the kitchen table, while given the biggest shit eating grin.

"Ah, hi Sherlock! Care for some tea?"

Sherlock is lost for words looking at John for obvious reasons. He knows from the get-go something isn't right, but he can't put his finger on it. I mean, for one thing, how often does John even smile, let alone give such a sinister.

"What did you do John?"

John looks puzzled; almost in a coy way.

"I take it you don't want any tea?"

Sherlock walks toward him, rage slowly building.

"What...did...you...do?"

He's standing over John. John sets down his tea.

"I haven't got a clue what you're-"

Sherlock grabs John and lifts him up.

"DON'T PLAY GAMES WITH ME!"

John's startled.

"Take it easy Sherlock!"

"After what you did to my brother, and don't lie to me!"

John snaps.

"Oh like you didn't lie to me?! Whatever I did or you think I've done, I doubt it was anyway near worse as faking your death, you sick son of a-"

Sherlock throws John on the table. Tea pot glass shatters as it hits the floor. Sherlock cocks a punch...but can't go through with it. John was his friend afterall. His only friend after all the shit Sherlock put him through, especially in the last year now. Sherlock knew John was right, even if he did something so...heinous to his own brother...so he let go. Frustrated, Sherlock backs away and strokes his own temple.

John gets up from the table. He has a slight grin on his face. He puts his hands in his pockets and then blows an air of steam.

"Alright, Sherlock. I can see you're pretty upset and you have every reason to be. You're brother is in the hospital...and I put him there.

Sherlock's eyebrows rise in shock.

"Why did you-"

"BUT there's a reason for that."

Sherlock let's John continue.

"See, Mycroft, let's face it, and you know better than anyone else, he's a nuisance. Putting a leash on you. Watching you like mummy and daddy, if mummy and daddy watched their 'special boy' that is. He needed a wake up call. Someone to put him in his place. He's a dog that likes to bark too much and I guess I snapped. I bit him and apparently it was more than he can chew."

Sherlock is sick to his stomach. He can't believe what John is saying. This doesn't even sound like John, he thought to himself. He's speechless. He walks to the kitchen sink and strokes his head. He's literally dumbfounded.

"I...I don't know what's gotten into you-"

John's **eyes go black** as he creeps behind Sherlock.

"More like who..."

He puts a chokehold on Sherlock, looks like something John would have learned while he was in Afghanistan.

"John! What the-"

John's eyes light up when he looks see's John's eyes in the reflection of the sink faucet.

"John?"

"Guess again, honey!"

Sherlock finally manages to shake him off but as soon as he does, John puts out his hand and Sherlock goes flying against the wall. He struggles but he can't move.

"John" walks over to Sherlock, slowly taking his time. He puts his finger in Sherlock's face.

"I'm not touching you! I'M not touching you! I'm NOT touching you!"

He can't help but laugh manically like a demented school girl. He holds his ribs in laughing and stomps the ground.

Sherlock looks confused, bewildered, shocked, and scared all at once.

"What...ARE you?!"

"John" laughs even louder.

"My, my, MY Sherlock! For a so-called genius that is single handedly the smartest thing you've said all night and yet IT'S STILL THE DUMBEST THING YOU'VE EVER SAID SINCE THE DAY I MET YOU! You still really have no idea who I am do you? DO YOU! tsk tsk tsk You really disappoint me babycakes. You really do!"

Sherlock has a "What the Hell-" look on his face.

"You can't be John that's for sure."

"Oh, I'm John alright...well...NOW I am! He still screams for you underneath here, just to let you know. He's terrified out of his mind. He wasn't nearly this terrified since the first time I...met...him..."

Sherlock is even more lost.

"OH COME ON! Really? After all we've had together? The games we played? Especially our most significant game...our last game...Hide and Die? You cheated and took the easy way out and everyone FELL FOR IT! RING ANY BELLS NOW SHIRLEY!"

A light does go on in Sherlock's head, but he can't believe it.

"No..."

"John" is ecstatic. He knows Sherlock finally gets it. A grim smile hovers across his face.

"YES!"

Sherlock's heart is pounding for dear life. He hasn't been this shaken in his life.

"It's...it's...impossible..."

"My eyes are black and you wanna talk about 'possible'? Please. Your deductions don't work here, honey. New game. We play by my rules. Rule number 1...say my name."

Sherlock is reluctant.

"Go ahead...we know you want to."

Sherlock opens his mouth...but nothing can come out. He's beyond speechless.

"SAY IT!"

Sherlock reluctantly gives in. He closes his eyes, gulps, and says...

"...Moriarty."

Moriarty jumps up for joy with the biggest smile possible on his face.

"YES! YES! HA HA! YES! I knew you'd get it!"

"But...but how..."

"You just can't get rid of me darling. We're destiny. You think you're surprise...imagine the look on my face when I realized there wasn't just a Hell, but I was there!"

That smile soon turns upside down. He walks eye to eye with Sherlock, still up against the wall.

"...Imagine my disappointment when I found out you weren't even there. That really messed up the deal I had with him."

"Him?"

"You know...well you don't know him personally but doing you're little snooping around London you know of his credentials...King of Hell ring a bell?"

Sherlock's eyes widen even more. Heart pounding more and more and more.

"Of course you do. Don't worry, he'll show up sooner or later. He claims I've been a bad boy. He'll certainly be giving me a spanking but before he even tries, I'm going to enjoy playing with you. I am going to peel your bones, those cheekbones, I'm gonna make you wish you fell to your REAL DEATH that day! I'm gonna-"

BLAM!

Mrs. Hudson knocked him over the head with Sherlock's violin. Sherlock falls to his feet. Moriarty is knocked out cold. Mrs. Hudson is shaken up. Sherlock runs to her and hugs her.

"Wh...wha...what's gotten into John?"

"It's not John."

"What?"

"I can't explain. You have to get out of here. Get somewhere safe! Do you understand?"

"Ye...yes. I'm sorry about your violin. I heard all this shouting and I got so frightened! I just grabbed-"

"It's okay. Just, go."

"But what about-"

"I'll be fine. RUN!"

Mrs. Hudson gets the Hell out of there, leaving Sherlock alone to stare at what used to be his best friend on the floor. He can't get those cold, lack eyes out his mind.

Sherlock looks at his own hand and it won't stop shaking. He rested it on his chest and he can still feel it pounding over...and over...over...and over...over...


	4. Chapter 4

John...um...I mean Moriarty...steadily woke up a bit woozy after taking a heavy blow to the head. He opens his eyes and realizes he's strapped in a wooden chair in the middle of the living room tapped up; his hands tied with a zip-loc and handcuffs and his feet were handcuffed as well.. He also noticed a blank expression from Sherlock who was sitting across from him on the couch, holding a pistol to him.

Moriarty just looks unimpressed.

"I take it you're not gonna buy me dinner?"

"Don't be coy with me."

"It's hard not to be _coy _when you do this. I always thought you were the perfect equal, then you do amateur stuff like this. Honestly, what do you think you'll do with that other than shoot your eye out?"

Sherlock is speechless. Moriarty gasps.

"The great consulting detective himself, Sherlock Holmes, is speechless? Wow, you really have been a disappointment. I bet I'll have more fun with that landlady of yours."

Sherlock snaps.

"You watch your tongue!"

Moriarty snickers and grins.

"It's not my tongue. I'll bite it off."

The room goes silent for a few seconds.

"Shirley..."

"Don't call me Shirley."

Moriarty chuckles.

"Cheeky, aren't we?"

Sherlock gives a cold glare.

"Now, **Sherlock**, put that thing down. We both know you're not gonna do it anything with it. For one thing, unless you noticed, I'm dead, so even if that bullet is glazed with holy water and you shot me in the head, you would only graze me. It'll be a flesh wound at best. Except for John. It'll definetely hurt like Hell for him. Second, you wouldn't dare lay a finger on this beautiful piece of meat. He says hi by the way."

Sherlock throws down the gun in anger.

"Careful, careful! You might break a nail."

Sherlock folds his hands and crosses his legs. He breathes in and out for a second trying to calm himself.

"Why? Why him? How even...who's the King of Hell?"

"Well, I can't tell you who_ he_ is, that'll spoil the fun. Plus, it's fun to see you in suspense like this. Scared out of your mind. But of course, we both know Sherlock never cracks under pressure unless faced with something he can't comprehend...something he can't make a deduction towards...something that doesn't make sense to him...something impossible...like The Hound."

Sherlock is shaken.

"How did you-"

"John remembers, I learn. Every single moment between you two, I've seen in my head. He's a very loyal mistress if yours. You should be proud. Which reminds me...why is it you never called me your 'best man on to it'?"

Sherlock turns white; Moriarty giggles.

"Oh, Sherlock, I've never seen you sweat. It's adorable."

"Why John? Out of everyone in the world you could have...possessed...why him? Why not me? You do have this sick infatuation with me after all."

"That thought did come to mind. I mean, I knew I always got under your skin anyway, would have loved to find out what you feel like on the inside, but I wanted to torture you. That was the deal after all."

Sherlock looks puzzled, but curious.

"Deal?"

"Yes. Me and *giggles* 'The King of Hell'...now **that's** a cheeky git...we made a deal. He said that he knew how I could get exactly what I wanted. You. So he told me about the supernatural and all the things that went bump in the night so I told him when I died...I get to torture you for the rest of our lives, or lack therof. Just the two of us...together forever in Hell...it just sounds grand doesn't it?"

Sherlock gives an even colder glare.

"Right...the deal was made-"

"How does one make a deal?"

Moriarty's face brightens up.

"Oh honey, you don't want to know. Well, I'll be lying if I said I didn't like it. He uses tongue. Wasn't expecting that."

Sherlock looks confused.

"Now, as I was saying, the deal was made and I was ready to go out with a bang. He kept making excuses though. I think he liked you or something. He always advised against me dying and killing you. Like the night we met face to face, our true faces, after you thought I was gay I mean. At the pool, which I'm sure you remember very well, he was on the end of my little phone call. He was really sore with me. Guess he doesn't like being told someone is going to skin them. Anyway, after I killed myself, I was expecting you in Hell. When I found out you weren't there, I was angry and couldn't wait for you to die on your own time so I crawled out-"

"You_ crawled out_? Just like that?"

"Oh you'd be surprised how much it happens on a weekly basis. I crawled out and I wanted to kill you, but while I'm in Johnny Boy here, I'm gonna torture you first. I'm gonna punish you for being an inconvenience for me. See, I really, REALLY wish I knew how to quit you, but you're just too much fun."

"Hmmm..."

"Hmmm? After all that, all you have to say is hmmm? Give me more than that. Come on!"

"Well, I say hmmm... because for one thing, I'll admit, I was scared at first, but now I'm really intrigued. An intelligent life outside of humanity and it's supernatural of all things. Fascinating. My mind is racing with possibilities and every one of those thoughts could be true. I'm honestly intrigued."

Moriarty smiles.

"Knew you would."

"Second, like I said, fascinating story but you still haven't answered my question...Why John?"

"Isn't it obvious? I wanna see you squirm as the face of the man you love pulls you to deeper depths. As your whole world burns before you. Any other questions?"

"No, I think I'm good, for now at least. Now you can leave."

Moriarty blows out a giant laugh.

"HA AHAHAHAHAHAHA! HA! HA! Oh, Sherlock, after all the trouble I've gone through for you, I've literally been from Hell and back and you think I'm gonna leave John's body just like that? JUST as we're getting to the good parts?"

Sherlock looks insulted.

"Of course not. I'm not a fool. But you will be leaving within a matter of days, no more. Whether you want to or not."

Moriarty snickers.

"What, while I was out, you searched up exorcising techniques?"

Sherlock gets up and walks to the table. Picks up a roll of tape.

"Yes, but I did stumble upon something better."

Moriarty's smile soon turns into a curious frown.

"I found two men online who claim to be 'hunters' of your kind. Demons, or whatever you call yourselves."

He pulls a piece of tape from the roll.

"They sound legit. I haven't actually spoken to them, but I did find a phone number and for the moment, it'd be the best thing I've got. Now hold still...I have to make a phone call to America..."

He puts tape on Moriarty's mouth. Moriarty looks pissed as he struggles to get the words out through tape. Sherlock see's the look of anger in 'John's' eyes he's never seen before. He hopes he will never have to see it again.

He takes out his phone and begins dialing.


	5. Chapter 5

We open to a motel room in America. Inside are two brothers. One Sam at a table using his laptop, drinking his coffee. The other Dean, laid out on the bed watching Bad Boys 2.

RING RING RING

The telephone rings, just as Dean watches Martin Lawrence give his infamous "Shit just got real." line.

"Sammy, could you get that?"

"I'm about to."

Sam goes to the phone and answers.

"Hello?"

"Hi, is this Masen W. Chirest?" said Sherlock Holmes, still not taking his eyes off Moriarty.

"Yes, how can I help you?"

"This is Sherlock Holmes-"

Sam Winchester goes on to have a "nerdgasm".

"THE Sherlock Holmes?! The consulting detective in London?!"

A puzzled Sherlock Holmes says, "Um, yes. You've heard of me?"

"Heard of you?! I'm a big fan! I read John's blog all the time!"

"Actually, now that you bring that up, that's exactly what I've wanted to talk to you about. I've read your blog 'Holy Hellfire' and I noticed many of the cases you write about has a lot to do with the supernatural. I would have just passed it off as mere fan fiction, but your descriptions are oddly specific, especially when you discuss the demons you and your brothers chase...the ones who's eyes turn black...is that really your job?"

"Yeah. Yeah it is."

"Good. Then I have a job for you then."

Dean walks in to see what all the excitement is about.

"The Hell's got you all worked up for?"

Sam puts the phone to his chest.

"We've got a case from Sherlock Holmes."

Sam puts the phone back to his ear. Dean looks confused.

"Who?"

Sam puts his finger up, telling Dean to wait for a minute.

"Go ahead, Mr. Holmes. Shoot away."

"My friend John has been...possessed."

Sam looks shocked.

"How long?"

"I don't know."

"Do you know where the demon is?"

"He's right in front of me. In a chair. Tied up, hand-cuffed, with duct tape on his mouth."

Sam is nearly speechless.

"Oh..."

"Masen, if it's not too much trouble, I need you to come to London to Apt. 221B and get this...creature...out of my friend. I understand your service isn't international, but I don't know what else to do. I'll pay you. I'll give you a place to live while you're here. I'll-"

"It's okay. We'll be there as soon in a day, maybe two. You don't even have to pay us."

Dean: "What?!"

"Ssshh." Whispers Sam to Dean.

Sherlock, relieved: "Thank you. Thank you so much."

They hang up.

Dean looks at Sam.

"Who the Hell is Sherlock Holmes?"

"A detective in London. He needs our help."

"Woah woah woah...London? Like Mary Poppins, fish and chips, tea and bones London?"

"I don't think there's any other. And it's tea and scones."

"The Hell's a scone...whatever. Do we look like we're on world tour? And how did he even get our number?"

Sam is hesitant.

"He read my blog."

"Since when do you have a blog? When were you gonna tell me-"

"I didn't think it was a big deal. It's just something I do in my spare time. I started reading his assistant's blog on their cases so I was inspired to write about our cases-"

"You what? May I remind you what we do, sometimes, isn't quite legal! Aren't we still on the F.B.I.'s most wanted list? What if they come across your...what do you even call it?"

"First of all it's called...*sigh*...Holy Hellfire...and people don't think it's real. Well, most don't. A lot think it's cool fan fiction. And I don't use my real name. I call myself Masen W. Chirest."

Dean looks dumbfounded.

"This just gets better...why Masen W. Chirest?"

"It's an acronym for my name."

"I can tell you put a lot of thought into this. Take it down and we're not going to London."

"Why not? The guy is desperate and what else is he going to do?"

"Tell him call Ghostbusters. I don't care. As much as I wanna help the poor son of a bitch, we can't just *in a bad British accent* head off on holiday all willy nilly!"

"We've got money saved up. Please Dean. Even if this guy was just a Joe Schmoe, it's our job to help. We have to do something. How would you feel if you needed help and your only chance to get it from me or Cas or anyone would be halfway across the globe?"

Dean thinks about it.

"...Fine, we leave for the airport in the morning...as long as you take down that blog of yours."

"Deal."

"Good. Now start packing. We got work to do..."


	6. Chapter 6

The Winchesters arrive in London fresh off the plane, dufflebags in hand filled with clothes, toothbrushes, salt, books about monsters and spells, the usual stuff they need when traveling. Except, of course Dean's baby...

"I hate it here." Dean groans.

"We've only been here five minutes?"

"And we've been two days away from my baby. I miss her, Sam."

"Dean, trust me, the Impala will be at the motel when we get back."

"You don't know that. For all we know, some sick pervert could jack her and start touching her and what not."

"Trust me; no one is touching your baby. We all saw Pulp Fiction. We all know that you should never mess with another man's vehicle."

"No one listens to John Travolta."

They still roam London looking for a cab. Sam puts his hand up to a vehicle that Dean thinks is a 'really old black van'.

"Taxi!"

The vehicle stops. Dean looks confused.

"That's a taxi?"

They get in the back of the taxi.

Taxi Driver: "Where to gentlemen?"

"Take us to Baker Street."

"Alrighty then! We'll be there in a jiff!"

Dean: "I'm sorry, a jiff? Like Jiffy Mix? They're feeding us too?"

Sam gives Dean a look.

Sam: "Don't mind him. We're not from around here."

"It's okay. I can tell. Sightseeing I assume?"

"We're in town on business."

"Oh, that's great. You two chuffed to be in London?"

"Oh yes, very chuffed."

"What the Hell does chuff mean?"

"It means happy. Excited. You would have known if you actually read that book I gave you."

"Sammy, you know I don't like reading. And by the way driver, HE'S chuffed about it. I can't wait to get out of this place! Honestly, I'd rather be back in Hell."

Driver looks a bit peeved by how rude Dean is.

"Jesus, no need to be such a tosser! Just trying to make some friendly conversation."

"Hey screw you pal! I'm not gay!"

"Tosser is British talk for asshole Dean."

"Oh...I thought he meant...like...salad tosser or..."

"Dean just...be quiet...please..."

After an awkwardly quiet drive, they get to Baker Street.

"Here we are. Now that would be 35 pounds please."

Dean looks completely lost.

"Pounds of what exactly?"

Sam just looks annoyed as he pulls out some British money.

"Christ Dean...here you go."

The Taxi Driver takes it as the Winchesters get out.

"Do you even watch British shows or movies? I know you've seen James Bond so you've had to pay attention to at least some of the slang they use."

"I do but I can't understand them half the time."

Sam nods his head in disapproval.

"Come on. We've got work to do."

They wander and look for Apt. 221B

"Who is this Holmes guy again?"

"He's like a modern British legend. He's the smartest guy in London from what I've read. You should like him."

"Why's that?"

"Well, a smart guy and smart ass usually go hand in hand."

Dean looks at him sarcastically.

"Ha ha ha. Since when were you Jerry Lewis? Oh, and who are we exorcising?"

"His assistant John Watson."

"If this guy's so smart, why does he need an assistant?"

"Well, Watson is more of a partner to Holmes in solving crimes. Like how we're partners in hunting."

"First of all, you're my sidekick and part time bitch. Don't forget it. Second, by partner...do you mean partners or _partners?_

"If you mean are they partners in bed...no...at least not that I know of. There are a lot of rumors on the internet."

They stop in front of 221B.

"Isn't this the place?"

"Yep."

Sam knocks on the door.

Sherlock quickly opens the door, not even trying to conceal the pistol in his hand.

"Are you Masen and Ned?"

Dean scoffs.

"Actually, it's Sam and Dean. Ned and Masen are just two stupid aliases my brother cooked up for his stupid blog. But yeah, we're the hunters."

"Ah, I see. Well, won't you come in?"

"Yeah, but you can put that thing away. You're safe with us."

Sherlock tucks his pistol in his pants as The Winchesters walk in. They see Watson tied up. Sam looks shocked. Dean looks impressed.

"I take it this is the demon."

"THIS is my friend John Watson. The demon is inside him. Say hi, Moriarty."

Moriarty looks ecstatic, but in a sarcastic way.

"HI!"

Dean: "Hmmm, impressive. How'd you manage to get this guy strapped down?"

"It wasn't easy. Clearly."

"Well, you sure do make it easy. For an amateur hunter, you've snagged quite-"

Sherlock snaps.

"Are we gonna get this thing out of my friend or are you gonna be coy all evening?"

"Geez, just getting to know you man. What's up with you?"

"What's 'up' with me? I don't know. My best friend has been possessed by a demon; something I didn't know existed until a few days ago. My deduction techniques haven't been working quite right ever since. I haven't slept ever since, having to watch this bastard, making sure he doesn't try anything. My brother is in the hospital because this demon attacked him while he was in John. So I'm sorry if I'm not quite as used to this...'hunting business' as you two are. **That's** what's up with me!"

The room goes dead for a moment.

Dean: "...Well no need to be a dick about it."

Moriarty snickers.

"Oh don't mind him. He's been tense lately."

Sherlock: "Go to Hell!"

Sherlock then has this look on his face like he realizes immediately he should've chosen his words carefully.

Moriarty: "Been there. Done that. Wasn't as fun as I'd imagined. Don't plan on doing it again."

Dean and Sam look at each other.

"We know what you mean."

"Oh, you've been there too?!"

"Unfortunately, yes."

A big cheeky smile comes over Moriarty's face. Well, it's John's face technically, but it's brought upon by Moriarty.

"You see all the fun you miss out on when you weasel your way out of things, Sherlock? Now you're just the odd man out in the room. Must be very awkward."

Sherlock looks at the brothers.

"Can I ask you two one thing? Would the host feel any pain or anything if anything happens while the demon is inside?"

Sam: "It stings them a bit, but no, not really. The demon feels most of it."

"Perfect."

Sherlock lunges at Moriarty and punches him in the face. He's out cold.

"There. Now we can get down to business."

Sam and Dean give each other 'holy shit' looks as they sit on the couch. Sherlock sits in his chair.

"So, when do we begin?"

"Well...first we need to set things up and while he's knocked out it's the perfect time. We need to draw a Devil's Trap around him so he doesn't try anything."

Dean: "Why hasn't he tried anything before anyway? It doesn't look like anything here is stopping him."

"He said he was having too much fun watching me...suffer."

"...Oh...well thankfully he won't be here for long."

"What do you want me to do?"

"Sleep."

Sherlock looks confused.

"Excuse me? I don't think we have much time to sleep."

"Well, you better make time. This is important stuff and we can't have you all disoriented while doing this job. Understand? At least get 4 hours in. It'll take us a while to set up everything and he doesn't look like he's waking up anytime soon. We'll wake you up when we need you. You really need the sleep man. You look like Hell."

"I'd rather look like Hell than be there. How is Hell by the way?"

"You really don't wanna know. Sleep."

Sherlock gets up, frustrated.

"Fine."

He walks away and then looks at John/Moriarty's unconscious body. He looks back at the boys.

"I'm sorry if I've been difficult lately. It's just that...things haven't been easy the last few days."

"We understand."

"Thank you again. I really appreciate it."

"No problem. It's our job."

Sherlock walks into his room and closes the door, leaving the brothers a bit dumbfounded.

Sam: "Huh...he wasn't quite what I imagined he would be..."

Dean: "Well, Brits are pretty weird so I'm not surprised."


	7. Chapter 7

_Help..._

_John..._

_You leave him alone..._

_Why don't you just DIE..._

"Sherlock? Sherlock? Wake up. Sherlock."

Sherlock jumps as Sam shakes him out of his sleep.

"Whoa, whoa, it's alright. You were just having a nightmare."

Sherlock tries to pull himself together. He wipes his face, ruffles his hair, and then strokes his temple as he steps out of bed.

"We're ready for you. Are you ready?"

"Yes...I'll be fine. Is _he_ gonna be fine?"

"Your friend is gonna be just fine. Believe me. Me and my brother have been fighting these things since we were kids and we've beaten way bigger fish than these."

Sam gulps.

"I...was actually possessed before. Twice. Once by _the_ demon. And I think I turned out just fine. I barely even remember what happened while I was out."

"I see...mind if I ask what exactly _the_ demon is?"

Sam looks and stares down. Sherlock knows exactly who he means by _the_ demon and his eyes widen.

"Oh...Jesus..."

"I wish...come on. We've got work to do."

The two walk out of Sherlock's room and into the living room where everything has been moved far away, leaving the chair that Moriarty/Watson sits in firmly in the center of the room, with a Devil's Trap underneath the seat. He's still out cold by the way. Dean is there beside him and then walks towards Sherlock.

"Good. You're awake. How's your latin?"

"Excellent."

"Why am I not surprised...look...all you have to do is read what this book says and as long as you don't pull a Bruce Campbell in Army of Darkness, Morty should be out of your friend in no time."

"Moriarty."

"Whatever."

Dean hands him the book of incantations. He gets in front of Moriarty with Dean on the left of him and Sam to the right. Sherlock begins to read, and Dean looks genuinely impressed at how perfect his latin really is.

"_Exorcizamus te, omnis immundus spiritus __omnis satanica potestas, omnis incursio __infernalis adversarii, omnis legio, __omnis congregatio et secta diabolica. __Ergo draco maledicte __et omnis legio diabolica adjuramus te. __cessa decipere humanas creaturas-"_

Sherlock is interruped by a giggling Moriarty. That giggle turns into a diaboloical laugh.

"HA AAAH HA HA AH! Oh, you think that's gonna work on me? Sorry to break it to you boys but I've been around the block a few times and I've learned a few things. I've got some tricks _up my sleeves_..."

He looks cheekily at the brothers.

"..._hint...hint..."_

Sam and Dean look horrified. Dean quickly checks John's right wrist and see's a Binding Link.

"Oh crap."

Sherlock panics.

"What?! What is it?!"

"It's a Binding Link!"

"A what?"

Sam: "A Binding Link. This guy's locked himself inside of John's body."

Moriarty: "Ding ding ding. We have a winner. These guy's catch on much faster than you do Sherlock."

Sherlock grabs Moriarty by John's collar and screams at him.

"GET OUT OF HIM! UNLOCK YOURSELF OR...GET THE HELL OUT OF HIM!"

The brothers pull Sherlock back. Sherlock's still snarling; foaming at the mouth like a wild animal.

"Hey man, take it easy! There's still a way to get him out of there. You just have to burn the link."

"What do you mean burn?"

"Not like burn his hand off. Just burn it with a...hot iron rod or something. You got one of those?"

"I've got a fire poker."

"That'll do. Light it over that fireplace."

Moriarty: "Not so fast, Sherlock. That wasn't very nice or wise to lunge at me like that. That was just plain mean. Now, hold on for a minute..."

Moriarty begins to speak a latin incantation (which is as perfect as Sherlock's) causing the ground the shake like an earthquake. The three men fall to the ground and struggle to get back up. Whatever Moriarty says, it causes all of Moriarty's shackles and locks to break free from him and hit the ground and it also causes a crack in the floor, breaking the Devil's Trap. Moriarty gets up from the seat and cracks his neck, then adjusts his cuff links and then his collar.

Moriarty: "Ah...that's more like it."

Dean lunges at Moriarty but Moriarty puts his hand out. Dean flys against the wall.

"DEAN!"

Screams Sam as he charges at Moriarty only to have Moriarty put his hand up and push Sam against the other wall. Dean and Sam are plastered against their respective walls struggling to move.

Sherlock just stands there, but he looks calm. Calmer than he's been the last few days at least.

Him and Moriarty stare each other down. Moriarty looks a bit puzzled.

"Really? You're not even gonna try to do anything?"

"And get slammed against the wall again, like these two gentlemen? I think I'll pass."

Moriarty looks harder at Sherlock, a bit perplexed.

"You seem...I don't know. Too mellow. I can't tell if you're scared or you've got a trick up your sleeve."

Sherlock chuckles.

"You can't tell? I thought I was an open book to you?"

"Oh you are. Sometimes there's just a twist or two in between your pages."

They just stare for a while. Sam and Dean look puzzled. Sherlock looks deep in John's eyes.

"John, I don't know if you can hear me, but everything's going to be fine. You'll be home soon."

Moriarty chuckles.

"How sweet. Just how do you think you're gonna bring him 'home'? Your hunters haven't done the job and I'm on my way out the door."

"You think that don't you? Go ahead."

Sherlock steps away from the door.

"Walk out. There's no way I can stop you. We both know this. You might as well go. Just know that I'll find you. We'll find you and you'll be back in Hell where you belong."

"Oooh...a challenge. This game of ours is finally getting fun."

Sam: "Sherlock what are you-"

"QUIET! I know what I'm doing."

Moriarty snickers and walks passed Sherlock and towards the door.

"Well...I'll...catch...you...lat-"

Before he could finish, Sherlock pulls a small bottle of pepper spray from his sleeve. He pulls Moriarty back inside and sprays it in his eyes. Moriarty is in sheering pain as he falls to the ground. Sherlock punches him over and over again, but he keeps his eyes closed to forget he's hitting the face of his best friend. Moriarty blocks a punch and kicks Sherlock off of him. Moriarty scrambles to pull himself as he heads toward the door, wiping his eyes which are blazing red and watery. Sherlock grabs Moriarty's leg and pulls him back to the ground. Moriarty tries to kick him off, but Sherlock keeps him down. The two tussle on the ground trading lefts and rights with each other. They're pretty evenly matched until Moriarty rakes Sherlock in the eyes. Moriarty gets up but Sherlock latches onto his back. Moriarty struggles to get him off. Sherlock has a firm grip on the demon.

"You...bloody pest!"

Moriarty screams as he struggles to get rid of Sherlock. He backs up and slams him against a wall. Sherlock doesn't budge. Moriarty does the same thing against another wall.

"AAAHHHHH!"

Screams Sherlock as his back hits something sharp. He lets go and then Moriarty quickly grabs the skull on the podium next to him and cracks it over Sherlock's head. Sherlock hits the ground heart. You could tell in his eyes that he's close to passing out. Moriarty struggles to walk out the door, but he manages to limp away.

Dean and Sam momentarily hit the ground themselves.

"You okay?" asks Sam to Dean.

"I'm fine. He doesn't look to hot though. Check up on him. I'll go get Mork."

Dean runs out the door. Sam runs to Sherlock, who's slowly fading. Blood is pouring out from his back and he looks woozy.

"Sherlock? Sherlock! Can you hear me?!"

"You...have to...find...find...Moriarty...John..."

Sherlock is out cold.


	8. Chapter 8

_John..._

_John..._

_John..._

_John!_

_Moriarty..._

"AAAHHHH!"

Sherlock wakes out of his dream to the sheering pain of Dean pouring alcohol on his back. He leaps off the couch.

"Take it easy man! Just some alcohol to neutralize that hole in your back."

Sherlock doesn't think twice. He looks around everywhere in the room.

"Where is he?! Moriarty?!"

Sam walks out of the kitchen with a glass of water.

"He's gone. We tried to catch him but-"

Sherlock goes frantic.

"GONE! He...he could be anywhere now! We...we have to go find him right-"

He grunts and grabs his back in pain. Dean gets up and guides him back to the couch.

"Slow down there buddy. You took a nasty hit from the back. Might wanna sit this out for the night."

Sam gives Sherlock the cup of water. Sherlock drinks it.

"Dean's right. The guy can be anywhere right now. We might as well wait until morning before we go on a witch hunt."

Sherlock hates to admit when someone else is right opposed to his own opinion, but he couldn't argue on this one. He reluctantly says...

"Yes...I suppose you're right. What hit me in the back anyway? Feels like I've got stitches."

"That's because you do."

Dean pulls out a bloody pen and shows it to Sherlock.

Sherlock see's the pen and looks perplexed at first, but then bursts out laughing. The brothers look a bit confused.

"What's so funny?"

"It's just...HA HA HA...what isn't funny about this? The pen is mightier than the sword? Sherlock Holmes, the world's only consulting detective...is thrawted by a pen? It's bloody hysterical."

Sam gets a few laughs in himself.

"Ha, when you put it like that, it is pretty funny."

Even Dean chuckles.

"Yeah. If you didn't give it to Mork from Ork in that little scrap so well, I'd think you were some kind of pansy because of this pen."

Sherlock is a bit puzzled at Dean's remark.

"Thank...you?"

"No really I mean it. You're the only Brit I might actually like in this town. I don't even like that many people but you're definitely up there."

Sam: "See, told ya you'd like him."

Sherlock: "Was there ever a doubt?"

Dean: "Well, yeah. I mean it's London. How many likable people can you find around here?"

Sherlock thinks it over.

"You know, Dean, I think we can both agree on that."

Dean: "BUT, like I said, you're alright when you're not being a dick. You're smart, your Latin's great, you're a better fighter than you look...if you were a chick I'd bang you."

Sam's eyes light up. Sherlock is speechless, but he can't help but grin at Dean's kind words towards him.

"You know what I mean."

"Um...thank you Dean. That's very flattering. Sorry if I can't say the same for you."

"What's wrong with me?"

"You're not a woman."

"He he, no, that's more of my brother's field. If Rapunzel over there doesn't cut those shiny locks any time soon, we'll have to start calling him Samantha."

The three laugh.

Sam: "Screw you, Dean!"

Dean: "I bet you'd love to, after all that slash fiction you read."

"Oh, that was a one time thing and you know it!"

"I don't know. You do keep your door locked a lot these days."

Sherlock looks confused.

"I'm sorry, what exactly is slash fiction?"

"You really don't wanna know. If I told you how my brother's been spending his nights-"

Sam chuckles.

"Bite me, Dean."

"I think I'll pass. Bitch."

"Jerk."

"Moose."

They all burst out laughing.

Sherlock's smile slowly turns into a concerned frown.

"Don't you two think it's strange we're here, laughing our troubles away while Moriarty is God knows where in John's body?"

Dean: "Nah, I wouldn't worry too much about it. We'll find him. We've been in many, many rodeos and tangled with way bigger bulls than some crazy demon. John will be back before you know it and you two can continue your little snog fest."

Sherlock freezes and turns white, eyes brightly lit.

"We're not...I mean a lot of people think we are for some reason...but I can assure you-"

"I'm joking man."

Sherlock looks slightly relieved.

"Oh...good."

Sam: "Dean's right Sherlock."

Dean: "As always."

Sam: "But so are you. He really could be anywhere right now."

Dean: "Oh come on. London can't be that big can it?"

Sam: "From the outside looking in, no, but it's bigger on the inside."

Sherlock lets out a big laugh.

Dean: "NOW what's so funny?"

"It's just that...I met a man who had something that was really, really bigger on the inside."

Dean looks confused, as does Sam.

"...Is that code for gay stuff?"

Sherlock chuckles.

"No. It's just that me and John had a case with this rather strange fellow and he...well you'll have to see it to believe it."

"Um...alright. Whatever."

"But Sam is right. London is a big place. I dread to think exactly what Moriarty could be doing in John's body..."

_Meanwhile_...

Sherlock was right, except for one thing...it wasn't a what Moriarty was doing...more like **who**...

Inside of a cheap and filthy motel room, loud screams are heard from afar but they're not screams of pain...they're screams of ecstasy...

"John" had just finished putting it to a very bodacious and very Ginger prostitute. As soon as he "finished", he dropped to the floor and started doing dozens of push-ups as if he still had a lot of energy in him, while the prostitute lays in bed underneath the covers trying to pull herself together and giggling gleefully. She gets her purse and takes out a cigarette and lighter. She puts the cigarette in her mouth and then lights it. She lets out a big puff of smoke out before giggling again.

"Ooh...you were an animal John! Is that why the newspapers call you a playboy all the time?"

John laughs, still doing pushups.

"Among other reasons."

She laughs.

"How you still have the energy to do anything, especially work out, after what you did I'll never know."

"Well, I am a former soldier afterall. I guess I'm still in that mindset to stay sharp at all times Miss...I'm sorry what's your name again?"

"Misty."

He gets up and gets on the bed.

"Well, Misty, you were quite mystifying if I do say so myself."

She blushes.

"And so were you."

He plants a big, sloppy kiss on her lips. Tongue and all.

"Mmmm...I hope you don't kiss Sherlock Holmes like that."

"Ha...after what I've done to you tonight, I think it's obvious any rumors you've read about me and my partner are false."

He plants an even sloppier kiss on her.

"Yes...now you can go."

He drops back down on the ground and starts doing sit-ups. Misty looks a bit bewildered.

"Go? You haven't even paid me yet?"

"Sorry, I don't even have any money on me."

"What?! No money?! How did you think this night would end?"

"How did YOU think this night would end? I mean, didn't you find it odd that I asked you to pay for this room?"

"Well...yeah...but you were such a nice guy, I didn't mind and I've read you were such a gentleman-"

John stops doing pushups to let out a huge laugh. He crosses his legs while still on the ground.

"Oh, honey, chivalry is dead. There are no gentlemen in this world anymore. You should know that in your line of work better than anyone."

Misty looks a tad heartbroken at such rude words, but even more angry because of those words.

"Oh, by the way, I forgot to ask...do you have any STD's I should know about?"

Misty looks appalled.

"WHAT?! NO! HOW...how dare you even-"

"Calm down...calm down...I really don't mind if you do. It's not even my body so-"

"I don't even know what that means..."

She puts out her cigarette on the dresser besides the bed.

"...but I do know I'm getting the Hell out of here!"

John sighs.

"Misty, I think I would know if Hell was anywhere in here."

She looks disgusted and jumps out from underneath the sheets and out of bed. She grabs her panty's and puts them on. She looks back at John.

"You know...one thing the newspapers should have mentioned about you is how much of an asshole you are!"

"Oh that's clever. How long it take you to come up with that one?"

She grunts in anger and turns her back on John. Looking on the ground frantically.

"Where's my br-"

John leaps up and puts her in a sleeper hold.

"*gags* Let...let go of me!"

"Not until you scream for me darling. All you whores love a good scream..."

_Later_...the following morning...

We see Mycroft in a hospital bed. He's still in a pretty bad shape, but he's recovering. He's got the leg cast off so that's a start. He's watching Top Gear when a nurse walks in with a telephone and hands it to Mycroft.

"It's for you."

He takes it.

"Yes?"

A dark voice answers.

"Yeah, Mr. Holmes, we've been searching all over town for the man you said attacked you-"

"Yes? And?"

"There was a reported murder today. A prostitute was found in a motel room dead and witnesses say the last person she was seen with matches the description of a Mr. John Watson. What should we do next?"

"Nothing, not yet. I'm on my way to you now. I don't want anything done until I get there."

Mycroft thinks for a second.

"On second thought, there is one thing you all can do for me until I get there."

"What's that sir?"

"Find my brother and bring him in. John is...was his only friend so there's no doubt he knows something."

"Yes sir."

Mycroft hangs up the phone and gives it back to the nurse.

"Go get me a wheelchair."

"But Mr. Holmes, you shouldn't be getting out of bed. You're not in the proper condition to-"

"NOW!"


	9. Chapter 9

_John..._

_John..._

_John..._

Sherlock wakes up, jumps up and falls out of his bed. He then walks out of his room yawning, still wearing the same clothes he wore throughout the day before, to see Dean getting off the couch wiping the cold of his eyes.

"You have another nightmare, Sherlock?"

"Yes, how'd you know?"

"Well, that huge thud sound in there was a bit of a clue. I don't know how Brits sleep, but us Americans don't exactly have a pleasant dreams when we fall out of bed."

Sherlock looks a bit embarrassed as he takes a mug out off the cabinet.

"I'm sorry if I woke you. Why are you on the couch? I said you and Sam could have John's room?"

"Well, there's no way I'm sleeping on the floor in there and there's no way in Hell I'm sharing a bed with my brother. Besides, I like the couch. It's comfortable."

"I see. Do you want a cup of coffee? I'm making one for myself?"

Dean's eyes light up.

"Dude, you have coffee in London?"

"Yes, of course. Why is that so surprising?"

"It's just that...I thought this town was just filled with tea and bones. That's all."

"You mean tea and scones?"

"See, Sam said the same thing but I still have no idea what the Hell a scone is."

Sherlock's eyes roll as he puts his cup in the coffee machine. He then gives Dean a curious look.

"Dean, speaking of Hell...how was it down there? If you don't mind my asking?"

Dean pauses and contemplates the question.

"No, it's alright. I can understand. With all the weird stuff you've gone through the last few days, I'd be a little curious if you weren't a little curious."

Dean and Sherlock lock eyes from a distance. Sherlock looks anxious to hear the answer. Dean looks like he's stalling a bit to answer the question. He's over Hell, but it still hurts to remember.

"Hell, Sherlock, is...well you can't compare it to anything. It's just...Hell. Time is different there than it is here. Hours feel like days. Months feel like years. It's *gulps* it feels like..like..."

Sherlock looks concerned and a bit regretful for asking in the first place.

"Dean, if this stirs up bad memories, you don't have to-"

"No, I'll be fine. I'm fine now. Hell is...it's torture man. Literally. Day in and day out. Just torture."

Dean sucks it up and then blows out some air.

"But I'm alright. I came out on the better end of it and I'm alive. But...don't tell Sam this...but sometimes I feel like I was better off dead. Sometimes I wish I was. I don't mean like offing myself. I mean...the hunting business is hard sometimes. Not the hunting part, but the job gets to you knowing you'll never have a normal life. A wife...a kid...family picnics...a normal job...none of that without it blowing up in your face somehow. Knowing the best shot you have at peace is an eternity in Hell. Knowing Hell is calling your name and you wish you could stop it but it just won't shut up."

Sherlock grabs his coffee and heads in the living room. He sits next to Dean. Sherlock doesn't know what to say so he just pats Dean on the back a couple times.

"It's going to be okay Dean. I don't know about demons or Hell...but I know a little about fate. Fate can rear it's ugly head for years but some nights...fate gives you just a few moments of happiness. Moments of clarity. Moments of peace...the closest moments of peace some of us can have alive. Trust me when I say those nights mean so much, especially when you're at your lowest...especially when you spend them with someone who makes you forget how alone you feel...or how alone you may be."

He pats Dean on the back one more time. Dean has a slight grin on his face.

"Thanks man. That really means a lot."

Sherlock grins himself. He knows he doesn't have the best people skills on the planet but knowing he's said something that 'means a lot' to someone, it's a little endearing. It boosts his ego a few more notches, of course, but it gives him a warm feeling inside. Sherlock takes a sip of his coffee, then Dean just glares at him.

"Where's my cup?"

"You didn't say you wanted one."

"I shouldn't have to say it. You knew I was excited to see some coffee. You should have known I want some coffee!"

Sherlock tries to hand Dean his cup.

"I don't even want it anymore."

Sherlock takes back his cup and then sips it.

"Suit yourself."

Sherlock notices Dean has something playing on the television.

"What are you watching? I'm not familiar with this?"

"It's some show about a British guy who owns a book shop, but he hates selling the books because he's too lazy to buy a new stock. It's actually pretty funny."

_(That's right folks. You read right. Dean is watching Black Books and he likes it.)_

Sherlock is watching it now and he actually chuckles a little bit as he drinks his coffee. Dean lets out a big laugh though.

"So, when are we gonna start looking for John?"

"As soon as Sam wakes up, which should be any minute now. He's never been much of an early bird, but I don't think he'll be in bed too long."

"Okay then."

BANG BANG BANG

A loud knock is heard at the door. Dean panics.

"Is that the police?"

"I don't think so. Why would they be at my door at this hour?"

BANG BANG BANG

Sam runs out of John's room, wearing just jeans and a T-Shirt, to see what the commotion is about.

"The Hell is that?"

Sherlock gets up and heads towards the door.

"I'm about to find out."

Sherlock checks his peep hole to see four men in suits outside his door.

BANG BANG BANG

One of the men speaks in a very loud, commanding voice.

"Look, Sherlock, we know you're in there! You can let us in or we can just let ourselves in. Know what I mean? Either way, we're getting in."

The three men inside look puzzled.

Sam: "You know who that is?"

Sherlock: "No."

Another man outside begins to shout.

"Hey! I hear voices in there! You've got until the count of five to let us in before we break this door down! ON-"

Before the man can even say one, Sherlock opens the door.

"Well no need to shout. You'll wake the neighbors. Do you even know what time it is?"

One of the men looks at his watch.

"About 10:00 AM"

"That was a rhetorical question! I know exactly what time it is. Now, can I help you gentlemen or are you going to waste even more of my time?"

The same man chuckles a bit.

"Wow...your brother told us you were a smartass but we had no idea-"

These men had Sherlock's curiosity. Now they have his firm attention and Sherlock shows it in his facial expression.

"My brother? What business do you have with my brother?"

"Let us in."

Sherlock does just that. The men notice Sam standing there with his arms crossed and Dean sitting there laid back on the couch with a cheeky grin on his face.

"Well look at this. You didn't tell us you had company."

Sam: "We're on business."

"Oh, and they're American too! Now, what kind of business do you have with two Americans?"

Dean: "None of yours, obviously."

The man charges at Dean and Dean stands up. They are eye to eye waiting for one of them to try something.

"And who in the blazes do you think you're talking to, boy?"

"The guy who better get out of my face before I send his ass flying across the pond with his tail between his legs."

Sherlock steps in.

"Are you going to tell me what exactly it is you want or are you going to continue to harass my guests some more?"

The man steps back from Dean. Dean smirks at him.

"Sherlock, who are these guys?"

"I assume they belong to the British government. Maybe they're in my brother's division, am I right?"

The man nods his head yes.

Sam: "Your brother works for the British government?"

Dean: "The British have a government?"

"Yes and yes. They're a bunch of...dicks...as you may say in America. Now, gentlemen, you still haven't told me what it is you want."

"Ah, yes. You're right. We got direct orders from your brother to ask you some questions. He thinks you may know where John Watson is."

"Well, I don't...and tell him I can explain everything. John just hasn't been himself...literally...and-"

"Sherlock, don't give me that. We all know you two are BFF's until the end. There isn't anything you wouldn't do for that man. It's kinda weird if you ask me, but I digress."

Sherlock glares coldly in the man's eyes.

"Now, Mycroft doesn't think you had anything to do with John attacking him, but he has a feeling, and I think he's right, that you would do anything to keep him a free man. Keep him safe so you might have told him to run. Where is he?"

"I don't know. If you expect me to leave with you, and knowing my brother that's exactly what he's asked of you, you are sadly mistaken."

"Oh, yes you are Sherlock. See, it seems like you don't understand the gravity of this situation. Have you seen the news today? I bet you haven't. Charles, show these men what John's been up to lately."

Charles, the tallest of the four men, gets the remote off the couch. He goes to change the channel, but not before glancing at what's on the television right now.

"Hey! It's Black Books! I love this show!"

The other man looks impatient and annoyed.

"Charles!"

"Sorry, Rich, sorry."

Charles changes the channel to BBC News, where a woman has just began talking about a recent murder.

Rich: "Hey, perfect timing!"

Newswoman: _Last night at about 2:00 AM, a prostitute named Karen Williams, known as Misty by her clients, was strangled to death, supposedly by one of her clients at the motel Red Roof Inn and was found dead by a housekeeper earlier this morning. We don't know many details about this case but one of our reporters caught up with DI Greg Lestrade on the scene to tell us what may happened._

_**Reporter**: "Inspector! Are there any details you can tell us about what may have happened in this motel room?"_

_**Lestrade**: "Sorry, can't do that. Much of what we know is classified information, but I can tell you that this woman was killed. That's definitely a given. She was also a prostitute. Basically stuff you all probably found out already."_

_**Reporter**: "Do you have any leads on who may have committed this crime?"_

_**Lestrade**: "We do, but that's classified."_

_**Reporter**: "Understood. What about Sherlock Holmes? Is he on the case?"_

_**Lestrade**: "Um...Sherlock's a bit preoccupied at the moment but we have this under control."_

_**Reporter**: "Preoccupied? Preoccupied with what?"_

_**Lestrade**: "I'm sorry. You people really need to go. This is a private investigation."_

Rich: "Shut it off."

Charles shuts off the TV.

"Now, Sherlock, I'm sure you may have figured it out by now in that nifty little head of yours, but let me give you the skinny in case you're just too naïve to admit it. The lead Lestrade was talking about was John. Witnesses say a man that matches John's description killed that girl. John DID kill that girl. Things are classified because Mycroft doesn't want any of this released to the public. Not yet anyway. Not unless he has to. That's why he didn't want the news about him in the papers. To be honest, if any of this did get out, it makes him look bad and most importantly it makes **us** look bad. Don't fight us, Sherlock. There's only four of us in here, but how many of my men do you think are hiding out there? Now, are you going to tell us where your friend is or are we really gonna have to take you in, Shirley?"

Sherlock snarls at Rich. He holds himself together though.

"Listen...Richie...first of all, this situation is much, much, MUCH more complicated than that tiny brain in that tiny head of yours can even fathom to imagine. Second, I won't be going with you because my business with these two men..."

He points to Sam and Dean respectively.

"...is a case. We're on a case together. Not just any case, but _the_ case. A case that I guarantee will not only clear John's name, but save his life in the process. I don't know how I can explain how it will do that, especially in a way that will get through that tiny skull of yours so just understand me when I say you and your men will do nothing but walk out of here the same way you walked in...empty handed. Understand, or is that just a bit too complex for you?"

The room goes dead silent for a few seconds before Rich finally says...

"Cuff them. All of them."

Sherlock headbutts Rich before shouting...

"RUN!"

Him and the Winchesters bolt out the door, pushing the men out of their way.

Rich is a bit groggy. He stumbles off the ground before shouting at his men.

"Well don't just stand there! GET THEM!"


	10. Chapter 10

Sherlock and the Winchester Bros. are running for dear life outside, roaming the London streets without a clue where they're going.

Dean: "Where are running to?!"

Sherlock: "We're just running!"

Dean: "You're the one who lives here! Pick somewhere! We can't just run forev-"

They are stopped by a black van stopping right in front of them. Out of the driver's side comes a bald, hefty man dressed in a black suit. Not one of the four men in Sherlock's apartment, but he was clearly one of Mycroft's men.

Man: "Where do you think you're going? Get inside!"

Sherlock scrambles in his head for a way to get out of this predicament. They best thing he can think to do is...point behind the man and scream...

"LOOK! A DISTRACTION!"

The man looks behind himself puzzled.

"What?"

Sherlock punches the man in the face and he's out cold now. The Winchesters stand there dazed and confused. Sam looks pretty impressed though. Dean more puzzled.

"...A distraction?"

Sherlock: "Come on! More are on their way!"

Sherlock gets in the driver's seat, Dean gets shotgun. Sam gets the back.

Dean: "What now?!"

Sam: "Dean, just shut your cakehole and let him think!"

Dean looks back and gives Sam a "bitch" face.

"Both of you shut your...cakehole...whatever that is! I just need to think for a minute!"

Dean: "We don't have much time for that! They're about to be on our ass in a minute!"

Sherlock looks back and see's the four man get in a black van and two other black vans behind them.

Sherlock sees the keys in the ignition, starts the car, pushes his foot on the petal and high tails it as fast as he can, with the vans chasing after them. Dean and Sam fly back in their seats.

Sam: "Easy, Sherlock!"

Sherlock: "Oh, put a seatbelt on! Both of you!"

Dean and Sam do just that, as Sherlock is constantly dodging traffic as are the vans behind them.

Dean: "He's right! We don't even know where we're going!"

Sherlock: "We're driving until they run out of gas."

Dean looks flabbergasted. He sarcastically says...

"Well...that's a great plan Sherlock! Nothing possibly can go wrong there! Oh wait...we can run out of gas before them!"

"I sincerely doubt it...looking at the gas gauge there, we are on full. The man who drove this car wasn't quite as idiotic as he looked. That man behind us..."

Sherlock looks in the rearview mirror to see Rich driving the lead van. He doesn't see the truck in front of him. Dean grabs the wheel and steers it away, saving them all.

"Sherlock! Pay attention!"

Sherlock puts his eyes back on the road, dodging more traffic. He goes on with his deduction.

"...is. Thank you, Dean. That man, if you couldn't tell, is someone who doesn't plan ahead. I sincerely doubt he's planned on something like this meaning he didn't plan on filling up his gas tank. You can tell in just the motion of his car that either he has a slow car or he's running out of gas."

"Seriously, that's what you based all that on? The way he looks?! Look, even if you are right, there are three cars back there! Just because one stops doesn't mean-"

"WHEN the lead car stops, it will slow down the other two cars; possibly causing a collision course between the three. When they crash, we're are in the clear, for now at least. We'll go back to my apartment, grab what we need, and then find John's body."

Dean is baffled and lost for words.

"I can tell you put a lot of thought into this...don't you realize that the way you're driving, as fast as you're going, this car is just as likely to die out as them."

"...oh...well to be quite honest...I don't usually drive. I've never even gotten my license."

Sam and Dean simultaneously: "WHAT?!"

"Calm down! I observe enough to know what I'm doing! There's absolutely nothing to worry about!"

Shots start flying through the window. They look back to see the men in the vans shooting at them. Sam and Dean duck when more start flying.

Sherlock: "Except for that."

A few shots hit Sherlock's tires. Sherlock is losing control and the car crashes smack dab into a pole. The vans stop as well.

"Or that."

The men in their vans get out but don't go to Sherlock's car. Rich says...

"One of you, get the megaphone."

"Why do we need a megaphone? Why not just go up and snatch them out?"

"Are you mad? Not with that raging psychopath in there! And those Americans? If they're slumming around with him, they can't be any more sane. We give them a simple warning to come out clean or else we start shooting."

"Shooting? Mycroft just told us to-"

"Don't question me! Just do it!"

The man goes to the car to get the microphone. Meanwhile, back in Sherlock's car...

Sam: "So, now what? We're not gonna just...give up are we?"

Sherlock: "Of course not. I...I don't know..."

Rich gets his megaphone.

"Alright, if you three are done playing games, you're all coming with us. No where to run now so just come quietly with us. You've got ten...no...FIVE seconds before we start shooting. ONE."

Sherlock: "He's bluffing."

Sam: "Even if he is..."

"TWO!"

"...he's still gonna put us in custody and we really don't have enough time to be interrogated. Not with John who knows where."

Sherlock: "You don't think I know that?!"

"THREE!"

Dean: "So what do we do?"

Sherlock: "I DON"T KNOW!"

Just as Sherlock says that, a man in trenchcoat just out of the blue appears in the back.

"Is everything okay?"

They all scream. The men outside hear it and look puzzled. Rich whisper to one of them.

"Did...did you hear screaming or am I going mad?"

"No sir, I think we all heard it."

"Go check it out."

The man pulls out the gun and creeps towards the car.

"FOUR!"

Back inside Sherlock's car.

Dean: "Crap, Cas! I've never been more happy to see you than I am now! Get us out of here!"

Sherlock looks puzzled.

"Cas? Who's Cas? Who are you?! How did you get here?!"

"My name is Castiel. I'm an angel of the lord. If we must go, all of you, grab onto me."

Sherlock looks petrified. Sam and Dean grab Castiel. Sherlock is too dumbstruck to move.

Dean: "Come on Sherlock! Grab him!"

"FIVE!"

Sherlock grabs Castiel. He gulps.

The man creeps to the driver's side and aims his gun, but he's blinded by a bright light. He shields his eyes and then looks back in the car, confused. He shouts to Rich...

"They're gone!"

* * *

**I just wanna give a big thanks to thebirds for making this awesome comic strip based on this chapter! I cannot put in words how awesome it is nor how flattered I am! art/SuperLock-Poofy-Cas-377952692**


	11. Chapter 11

Sherlock, Sam, Dean, and Castiel pop up in a booth at a diner. Sherlock looks around at the change of setting and is petrified. He tries to hold his composure because he's seconds away from panic. He just sits there eyes widened, staring at Castiel across from him. Sam and Dean let out a sigh of relief.

"Wooh! That was too close Cas! In the nick of time! Thanks!" exclaimed Dean.

"You're welcome, Dean." said the monotone Castiel.

Sam turns to Cas next to him and asks "Why'd you bring us to a diner, Cas?"

"I was hungry."

Sam: "That makes three of us then. Are you hungry, Sherlock?"

Sherlock still looks petrified, near terrified out of his mind, never taking his eyes of Cas and his near blank expression.

"Sherlock, you okay?" asked a concerned Dean.

A waitress came by to take their order.

"Hello gentlemen! When'd ya'll come in? I didn't see ya'll come in?"

Sam answers "Uh...we're just super sneaky is all!" He chuckles. "I mean you know the motto!"

"Best damn diner in Cardiff?" The waitress

"Oh God..." groans Sherlock.

The waitress looks confused. "Uh...is your friend okay? He doesn't look to hot."

"Um...don't mind him. He just hasn't ate today." Sam answered.

"Oh, well you've all come to the right place! Can I take your order?" the waitress asked.

"Yeah, I'd have some pancakes, waffles, and sausages. With a coke." said Dean.

The waitress took out a notepad out of her pocket and wrote that down.

"And I'll have some bacon, an omelet, and some coffee." said Sam.

She writes that down as well.

"I'll have a milkshake with a cheeseburger." said Castiel.

Sherlock, still eyes stern on Castiel, raised an eyebrow to that. He already saw it strange he was sitting across from an angel. Now he's sitting across from an angel who eats cheeseburgers and milkshakes for breakfast.

"That's a little strange for a breakfast, but okay pal." She said, writing down on her notepad. "How bout you?" She turns to Sherlock. Sherlock is still too petrified to even speak, eyes on Cas. "Sir?" she asked with concern.

"He'll have a glass of water with...um... eggs and hashbrowns with toast." Dean answered for him.

The waitress shrugged, still writing it down. "He a mute or something?"

"He's just had a rough week. Let's leave it at that." Sam answered.

The waitress shrugged. "Okay then...be back in a flash with your breakfast!" She said with a smile.

When she went away, Sam spoke. "So...I guess we might as well take some time to get properly acquainted. Cas, this is our client Sherlock Holmes, the world's only consulting detective. Sherlock, this is Castiel, our angel friend."

"Hello." Castiel said to Sherlock.

Sherlock, in a sort of concealed panic, leaped up and bolted out the diner door.

The three men sat there with a state of confusion. "He's a rather strange man. Is he going to be okay?" Castiel asked. Dean shrugged, looking at Sam.

"I'll get him." Sam got up out of his seat and headed out the door.

He saw Sherlock walking fast down the road. "Sherlock!" He shouted running to him. Sherlock didn't stop. Sam finally caught up with him. "What's up with you?" he asked. Sherlock stopped, turning to Sam.

"What's wrong with me? My life has gone mad, THAT'S what's up with me! Everywhere I go, it's like the world is trying to test my intelligence! My insanity!" Sherlock raises his voice in a shriveled panic.

"Take it easy Sherlock." Sam asked calmly, trying to put his hand on Sherlock's shoulder.

"Don't tell me to take it easy!" he swats his hand away. "For the last week, I've encountered angels, demons, hunters, and a dead man! I've traded fists with that dead man in the body of my friend! Nothing is making sense! I haven't even been able to make a single deduction that made sense! Now I'm having breakfast with an angel from heaven that enjoys cheeseburgers and milkshakes? We were in London not even five minutes ago and now we're 152 miles away from it in Cardiff?!"

"Cas can just teleport us back-" Sam speaks, but Sherlock interrupts. "No! No more teleporting for me, thank you!" He said in panicked sarcasm. "It didn't feel right during and I...just...that's beside that point anyway! You don't understand! Everything I've never believed in is coming to life and you expect me to take it easy?!"

Sam sighs. "So what? You're just gonna leave because things don't make sense? You think you can find John by yourself?"

"Yes! All I have to do is burn that lock on his wrist and everything is back to normal! " Sherlock states with panic and confidence.

Sam begins to raise his voice himself. "You're not thinking Sherlock! You're a smart guy, I know you are! Think! The entire British government is gonna be on our ass! Me and Dean have dealt with an entire police squad before, but never a government! We need a game plan! Now I understand, this isn't the world you're used and it's scary! I've been fighting these all my life and it's still scary as Hell! Dean wouldn't admit it, but I know he's still scared by the stuff. You don't think I wanted to leave? You don't think I had TRIED to leave?!"

Sherlock doesn't answer. Sam glares at Sherlock.

"Well I did. This wasn't the life I wanted so I left years ago. Lived a normal life for awhile. Went to college, had a girlfriend, she was gonna be my wife. I thought I was out for good...then Dean came back telling me our dad was missing. Then my girlfriend ended up dead. You know what I learned that day Sherlock?"

Sherlock shook his head, his face riddled with intrigue eager to hear the answer.

"I learned that when you start this business. This hunting business. There's no going back. There is no normal life. No matter how many times you try to leave something big, something bigger will show up and come after you. *Sam sighs* Everyday I wish I told him no. I wish I told Dean to piss off and our dad can rot wherever he is. But I couldn't. Truth is I love my brother more than anything. I'd die for him." Sam scoffs to himself. "I HAVE died for him and we've died for each other. You actually have a chance though. As soon as that demon is gone, you and John's life will be back to normal. Well, as normal as two people solving mysteries for a living can get."

Sherlock chuckles a bit. Sam smiles at him.

"I know it's hard, but the sooner we get you through this, the sooner things will get better. You have my word." Sam tried to reassure Sherlock.

Sherlock thinks to himself for a moment, and then nods to Sam.

"Now, are you gonna be alright?" Sam asks.

"Yes, I think so. I feel better actually. Thank you." Sherlock replied.

Sam nodded at Sherlock with a smile. "Alright, let's go eat. Then back to London." Sam said.

Sherlock nodded, walking side by side with Sam toward the diner. "Instead of teleportation with that...Castiel...can we just take a train to London. It should take just a couple hours." Sherlock asked.

Sam laughs. "Alright. I know teleporting is pretty weird at first, but you get used to it after awhile."

"Not sure I want to experience it first hand anymore." They both laughed. "Understood." Sam replied.

"Mind if I ask how you two even know an angel?" Sherlock asked with curiosity.

"He saved my brother's life." Sam answered. "He saved him from Hell. He loves almost like a second brother."

Sherlock raised his eyebrows, genuinely surprised. "How are angels anyway? Are they anything like demons?"

Sam shook his head. "Not exactly. Demons are assholes. Angels are more like...dicks."

"So your brother loves a dick?" Sherlock said cheekily.

Sam just burst out laughing. Sherlock laughed with him as they walked back in the diner and toward their table. Cas and Dean looked at them confused, wondering what they were laughing.

"The Hell is so funny?" Asked Dean. Sam and Sherlock are still laughing too hard to answer as they sit back down in their seats.

"Look, Sherlock, I don't know what this guy's been telling you, but I'd watch myself. Dweeb is contagious." Dean teased.

Sam chuckled. "Yeah, and so is being a douche bag so cover yourself around Dean."

Dean laughed sarcastically. "Yeah, but I can still kick your ass."

"You couldn't kick a fairies ass!" Sam teased back.

Dean turned a bit flustered. "Uh...um...well...that was just...shut up."

"Yeah, that's what I thought." Sam chuckled, feeling confident he won this round.

Sherlock chuckled himself at the banter before looking back at Castiel.

"Castiel, I apologize for being rude earlier. This is all a bit...much to take in. Won't happen again. Let me introduce myself properly now...the name's Sherlock Holmes." He extends his hand to Cas. "Pleasure to meet you."

Castiel gives a slight smile while shaking Sherlock's hand. "Likewise."


	12. Chapter 12

We open to an old abandoned warehouse back in London. It's dusk. We see Mycroft in a wheelchair in the center of the room. Behind him is his assistant Athenna, doing God knows what on her phone, as always. In front of him is all of the men in suits we saw earlier who were chasing Sherlock. All of his men were eager to hear what Mycroft would say, a bit worried what he might say as well. Mycroft looked upon them with a scolding look, with a hint of anger.

"So...would anyone mind telling me just what the Hell happened today? Would anyone like to tell me how no one out of the eight of you could catch one man?" asked Mycroft.

"And...and two Americans." mumbled the bald, hefty man Sherlock hit earlier. He was holding an ice pack to his face. Mycroft looked puzzled.

"Chris, why are you holding an ice pack to your face?" Mycroft asked.

"Well...when I tried to catch them, you're brother fooled me with a distraction thing and-" Mycroft interrupts Chris.

"I'm sorry, can you come a bit closer. I'm a bit hard of hearing since I was attacked." He said in a soft tone, almost a broken whisper.

Chris walked over to Mycroft, leaning down to his level.

"Mr. Holmes, I said-" Chris is interrupted by Mycroft smacking him across the head with a newspaper a few times. "I KNOW WHAT YOU SAID!" screamed Mycroft. Athena giggled, still on her phone.

"The distraction thing...*scoffs* I taught him the bloody distraction trick when we were children! Did I get a thank you? No! He just relishes in using it to make me look like a bloody idiot! Get out of my face!" he screamed at Chris, who ran back to where he was.

"Richard!" Mycroft yelled, to which 'Rich' answered "Yes, Mr. Holmes?" Mycroft snapped his fingers and pointed to the ground in front of him, much like how a master calls his dog. Richard walked over to him, gulping, adjusting his tie.

"You want to explain to me why you ordered these men to shoot at my brother?" Mycroft asked with a commanding demeanor.

"Uh...um..." Richard stood there baffled, speechless in fear of saying the wrong thing.

"May I remind you of all the things wrong with that?" Mycroft asked, Richard gulped.

"First of all, I asked you to bring my brother in for questioning...not kill the bastard!" Mycroft shouted enraged.

Richard tried to defense himself. "Sir, I wasn't trying to-" Mycroft interrupts "Shut...UP...when I'm speaking. You disobeyed your orders from a superior. Are you trying to go rogue, Richard? Is that why you disobey me or you are just hungry for my position?"

Richard stumbled over his words. "I...no...not at all..."

"So you just don't take me seriously? You don't consider my authority in any high value?" Mycroft asked.

Richard began to sweat a bit "No, sir I-" Again, Mycroft interrupts "Shut...up...you simple minded oaf. Second of all, you had these men open fire in broad daylight in front of civilians? What do you think this is, a Charles Bronson film? You think it's okay to start a gun blazing car chase out of the blue? I hope you know the internet is already buzzing with conspiracy rumors and whatnot? You know how bad this makes us look? Do you understand how bad this makes ME look? Do you like making me look bad, Richard? Do you like making a fool of your superior as well as your entire division? HUH?!" Mycroft raised his voice.

"Uh...um...well...uh..." Richard stammered over his words.

"What's wrong, too many questions for that thick brain of yours?!"

"Uh...uh...uh..."

"What?! Speak up! Stop stammering, you sniveling ass! You're a grown man for Christ sake!" Mycroft got louder.

Richard looked too terrified and even a tad embarrassed to form complete sentences. "Well...no...I mean...uh..."

"Get out of my face." Mycroft said in a cold manner.

Richard walked back to where he was, practically with his tail between his legs.

Mycroft settled down a bit, sighing. "So, is there anything any of you lot did useful today?" he asked, annoyed and disappointed, stroking his temple.

Charles, the tallest of the four men from earlier, came up and spoke "Sir, we searched your brother's apartment and didn't find much on where John could be, but we did find some weird stuff in what appears to be the Americans' travel bags?"

Mycroft raised an eyebrow in intrigue. "Like what?"

"Well, we found spell books, some salt, don't know why they carry salt with them. Weapons, well a knife to be specific." Charles answered.

"Hmm...what has my brother gotten into now?" Mycroft said quietly to himself. "Well, at least we've got an idea of what kind of Americans we're dealing with. Good boy, Charles."

Charles grinned and nodded. Richard glared at him.

"Now, I want someone to make rough sketch descriptions of these Americans and send copies to the FBI. We don't have the best relationship with them but if these men are as dangerous and crafty as you suggest, then most likely they have a record the FBI would be willing to share with us. Their files could also, hopefully, give us an idea on where my brother may be and what he may be doing with them. I expect results in the morning...better than today's I hope. Athenna, take me away."

Athenna rolled Mycroft back to the limo, surprisingly having the strength to lift his light body in the back and then the wheel chair in the trunk. Also surprisingly, the trunk on the inside was bigger than the outside would suggest. Athenna sat in the back and the limo pulled off, living the men in the center of the warehouse.

Across the street in the shadows, John/Moriarty looked on from the alley with a shady grin before walking away.


	13. Chapter 13

We're on a train. Sherlock was sitting in a section by himself. He wanted to think alone. He sat there laid back in his seat, eye closed, hands folded on his lap, in his mind palace. Sam and Dean were behind him. Castiel walked up to Sherlock and sat down across from him.

"Sherlock?" He called.

Sherlock opened his eyes to see the angel across from him. He's a lot calmer now than he was when he first met him earlier, even if he still can't quite wrap his mind around it. "Hello."

"How long is this...train supposed to last?"

"3 hours and 10 minutes, that is if my deductions are correct. Which I'm sure they are."

Castiel sat there squinting his eyes in bewilderment. "How are you doing that?"

"To put it simply, I am a quick thinker and observer. It's elementary, really."

"You learned this technique of yours in elementary?"

Sherlock chuckled. "That's not quite what I was implying but yes, I did develop my deductions at an early age."

"You have an incredible gift, Sherlock."

All Sherlock could do was grin at the fact he got a compliment from an angel. "Thank you."

Castiel smiled and nodded.

"Would you mind if I ask you a few questions? Just to get to know each other? Learn about...angels?"

Castiel nodded. "I understand. A man as inquisitive as yourself wants to learn as much as you can about anything that requires learning and this would certainly be something to learn about."

Sherlock nodded. "Yes. Exactly."

"In that case, ask away."

"How long have you been an angel?"

Castiel sighed. "I think the better question would be how long haven't I been an angel. To that question, I wouldn't quite know how to answer but to your question...since the beginning of time. He created us to serve Him long before he envisioned the idea of humanity. So it was just me and my brothers and my sisters. So many brothers. Just to name a few... Gabriel. Anna. Balthazar. Hester. Uriel." Castiel chuckled for a bit, reminiscing on old, simpler times before the bloodshed and the war. "Uriel, believe me, was the funniest angel in the Garrison. Ask anyone. Were used to frolic in the valley as if we hadn't had a care in the world. We would-" That smile on Castiel's face turned into a gloomy frown when he remembered all of the problems that would come to be.

There was a bit of silence before Sherlock broke it. "Do all angels look like you?"

"Well, this isn't how any of us look. It's hard to explain; the true form of an angel. If a human was to see an angel in our true state, their eyes would burst instantly. This is a mere vessel."

Sherlock scratched his head in bewilderment. "How does an angel acquire a vessel?"

"An angel must contact their true vessel. First, that vessel must prove their faith to the angel, then once they trust the angel, they must decide whether or not they want their bodies taken over."

"Does the same go for a demon?" Sherlock asked, with Moriarty's possession of John in mind.

Castiel shook his head. "Demons don't need a specific host and it's rare a demon even escapes Hell with a specific vessel in mind."

Sherlock nodded. "How is it up there, in Heaven?"

Castiel sighed again. "Nothing like it used to be. To put it mildly, it's practically Armageddon. As Dean told me, Heaven has turned into the most dysfunctional family in the history of dysfunctional families. He's right." He said in a somber tone.

"Castiel, now that you bring up Dean, tell me, why you pulled Dean from Hell?"

"My father commanded it of me. So I obeyed."

It didn't take Sherlock long for him to figure out who his "father" was. "What did your...father...want with Dean?"

"He wanted him to become a vessel for the angel Michael to combat against Lucifer. They were apart of Heaven's prophecy foretelling the battle against Hell."

Sherlock's eyes grew in disbelief, intrigue, and amazement. Then he remembered when Sam said he was possessed by _the_ demon. "The Winchesters? They were supposed to be Michael and Lucifer?"

Castiel nodded.

"Did you pull Sam out of Hell?"

Castiel sighed and didn't want to answer. He slightly nodded. "Please don't tell them."

"They don't know?"

Castiel shook his head. "Not yet. When I did what I did, the repercussions weren't flattering so I would rather wait until the time is right to bring it up."

"I understand. I just have one more question...How is...He? God?"

Castiel sighed. "He was like your average father, I suppose. Now...he's...I've been told he's dead...but I want to be optimistic and believe...have faith that he's out there. Excuse me, I'm craving some peanuts right now."

Castiel stood up and started to walk away. "Wait, one more question." Sherlock called.

Castiel turned around. "I thought that that last question was your last question?"

"There's just one thing I don't understand...earlier, in the car...how did you know where to find us?"

"Simple. I heard Dean's prayer. When he prays for my help, I don't hesitate to answer and arrive wherever he is."

Castiel walked away. Sherlock sat there in admiration. Castiel's loyalty to Dean reminded him of John's loyalty to himself.

_Speaking of John...back in London..._

We see John/Moriarty walk up to a house. He rings the doorbell. The door opens shortly after...

It was Molly Hooper who answered.

"John? Where have you been? Where's Sherlock? Greg told me you two were in some kind of pickle but wouldn't tell me anymore. He said he didn't want me to worry but I'm really worrying and..."

"Ssh...don't worry. Calm down. I'll explain everything in a moment. May I come in? Been a long day."

Molly nodded, widening the door open and letting "John" inside.

* * *

By the way, yes this is supposed to take place during the middle season 6 of Supernatural, after Sam has got his soul back. Strange, I know, but it'll make sense why I used this kind of continuity before the story is over. Trust me.


	14. Chapter 14

John walked into Molly's home, limping a bit. Molly closed the door behind him.

"Want me to take your jacket?" She asked.

John shook his head. "No, I'm fine. Thanks for offering."

She smiled and nodded. "Care for a drink?"

"Yes, please. Something alcoholic would be nice."

She nodded with a skeptical look on her face. She never knew John was a drinker. Anytime she'd ask him if he'd like to go out for a drink, he'd always decline. "I don't usually drink, but I'll see what I can ruffle up." She smiled as she headed for the kitchen.

John had an even more skeptical look on his face as he sat down on the living room couch. When he was "Jim", he remembered she had plenty of alcoholic beverages that ranged from martinis to vodka to mojito's. She only had them for special occasions, but one would have mistaken her for an alcoholic had they found her stash. The bottles always came in handy when they were dating and they'd usually help take things a few steps...further...if you catch my drift. He smiled slightly, remembering those fond nights.

"I found one!" She spouted as she pulled out a vodka bottle. "I think I'll just have some tea, but I'll pour you a glass."

John gave a slight chuckle. "Oh come on, Molly! Live a little! Vodka doesn't bite!" He teased with a grin.

She giggled peckishly with a slight blush. "Well, if you insist." She said as she poured a glass for him and herself. She walked back into the living room, handing him a glass as she sat down next to him. She took a sip of her drink before setting it down. He downed his drink quickly and swiftly. He set his empty glass on the table.

She chuckled a bit. "My, at this rate, I might as well bring the whole bottle in!" They both laughed. "This is starting off almost like a..." She paused, fearing she'd sound foolish if she said what she was thinking.

"A date?" He finished for her, smiling and gazing in her eyes.

She gazed back in his eyes, practically in a trance. There was something alluring she found about John now. She saw something familiar in his eyes, but she couldn't put her finger on just what that something was. All she could tell was there was something different inside of him. She would never have guessed just how literal that statement would be. She pulled herself together after a few seconds of gazing. "Uh...right...so what's wrong with Sherlock?"

"I'm sorry, who said there was something wrong with Sherlock?" He asked, playing the role of the clueless companion.

"Greg, or at least he implied it. Said the same about you as well. Sorry, he implied it."

"And how exactly did he imply such things?"

"Well, you know how cryptic Greg can be." She chuckled a bit before clearing her throat. "He said you two have been acting...odd...according to...others."

"And who exactly are these...others?" He asked, still playing the clueless companion even though he knew damn well that "others" referred to the British government.

"He just said others. I have no idea who he could have meant." She answered honestly. "Why would he say you two were acting odd?"

He managed to quickly think of a lie in his head on the spot that very second. He sighed. "I guess I might as well tell you. Cat seems out of the bag. I didn't want to bring it up but-"

"Bring what up? What's happened?" She asked genuinely concerned.

He sighed again. "I think Sherlock's been using again."

Her eyes lit up. "Cigarettes or cocaine?"

He blew out an air of steam, shrugging. "Could be either. Greg was right. He has been acting strange the last few days. To be honest, I've been nervous around him, which explains my strangeness."

"Is that why neither of you have showed up for work the last few days?"

He nodded. "I've been tailing him, looking after him...call it what you will." He leaned back in his seat, resting his hand behind his head. "I had suspected he was by how off he's been. Sherlock's always been a little off. Brilliant, but off. Let's face it, but this is a new kind of off, even for him."

"And you've come to the conclusion that he's using again? Abusing I should say?"

He nodded again, closing his eyes, as if he was heartbroken. "Among other things." He said in a broken tone.

"What other things?" She asked, puzzled and concerned for the Consulting Detective.

He sighed again. "Remember that news story about the dead hooker from earlier today?"

She nodded.

"And did...Greg...tell you about Mycroft's...accident?"

She nodded and gasped. "He didn't...did he?"

He reluctantly nodded. "He did. At least that's what everything points to. With both nights, he was out late. He's been out late for a few nights, actually. He never gave a straight answer when I asked him what he was doing and the last time I saw him, he hit me. It led to a bit of a scrap which let me tell you *chuckles* was not pretty."

"Is...is that why you're limping?"

He stared at her in bewilderment; dumbstruck. He never realized he was limping. Perhaps Sherlock roughed him up more than he led to believe, he thought to himself. John's body was fragile afterall.

"Sorry, I just...I couldn't help but notice when you walked in. Sherlock always told me it was psychological so there's no need to worry. It could clear up soon." She clarified.

He decided, _what the hell? Why not just go along with it? It's working so far anyways._

He nodded. "Yes, that is why I'm limping. Then he disappeared and I have no idea where he could be."

"Oh God, John. I'm so worried for him." She said as she rested her head on his shoulder. She didn't mean anything by it, nothing tension wise at least. She was really worried for Sherlock, even though she was passed her little crush over the detective by now. She cared for him as a friend still, even though Sherlock would rarely return that care or friendship. She was worried and John was there for the consoling.

John however felt something at this point. He tensed up a bit. When he was Jim, he only used Molly as a means to get closer to Sherlock. When he met Sherlock face to face, he was done with her but for some reason, he didn't understand why, he missed her. He kept telling himself he just missed the sex but he knew it was more than that, though he couldn't comprehend what that something was. Little did he know, even though he was playing a part, Molly made him feel less lonely. Less sad. Like how Sherlock feels around John, only a bit more intimate. Remembering these times between them made him feel sentimental and for some reason, thinking of Molly with Greg Lestrade now made him feel jealous.

"Yes, I'm worried too." John said. "How long have you been dating Greg?" He said rather bluntly.

"Wha...what?" Molly said puzzled as she rose her head off his shoulder.

"How long have you been dating Greg?" He repeated himself in slower syllables for her to comprehend.

She chuckled in confusion. "What does that have to do with anything right now? Besides, you remember how we got together don't you? He accompanied me to the Christmas party at your flat last year and things evolved from there."

Jim ruffled through John's memories quickly and that did pop out, as well as a few intimate moments such as Molly bringing Greg a home cooked meal and her giving him a peck on the cheek a few times and him kissing her on the forehead. Stuff like that. All the "mushy wushy" stuff, as Jim would put it, between them, made him rather sick. He hid his disgust with a grin and a chuckle. "Oh, right! I guess with all this...this madness with Sherlock, it's easier to forget things for me."

She looked suspiciously at him. "You didn't answer my question. What does that have to do with anything?"

He shrugged. "Nothing, I suppose. Just making conversation I guess. Are you happy with Greg?"

She raised her eyebrows. "Of course I'm happy! John where is all this coming from?"

He shrugged again. "Just curious. I mean, Sherlock did say you should probably not invest in relationships."

Molly looked rather insulted. "Just what are you implying?"

"Well, you have to admit, you don't have the best taste in men."

She looked even more insulted. "I beg your pardon?!"

"Face it, Molly. For the longest time, you had a crush on an asexual who couldn't have had the slightest interest in you if you paid him. And don't get me started on Moriarty." He chuckled a bit. "A deranged psychopath who you dumped because you thought he was gay? How off you were, Molly Hooper, and how incredibly shallow." John grinned, relishing in speaking in the first person. Though, it slowly fueled his rage remembering he was dumped, giving he's always been the dumper. "And don't think I didn't know you were just using me to get to him!"

Molly went from looking hurt to just confused. "Use you? When did I ever use you?"

He was lost for words, not realizing he had gotten ahead of himself there. "Uh...I meant...uh..."

"You know what, John? I don't know what's wrong you...maybe Sherlock abusing again has gotten to you...but I do know that this isn't you." She said in a broken, hurt, and insulted tone.

He scoffed. "Honey, you have no idea."

"I assume that you've been drinking-"

"Oh please! You've fed me my only drink today!" He interrupted, which only fueled the rage inside of her.

"Listen!" She demanded.

He went silent, surprised by this sudden outburst which wasn't like Molly.

"Now, whatever is going on with you, I don't like it and I would like you to leave. Don't come back until you've found a better attitude."

"You're kicking me out?" He asked puzzled and surprised.

"Now!" She reiterated.

He groaned, rising from the couch. "Just like old times." He mumbled.

She raised an eyebrow. "What is that supposed to-"

"Nothing!" He groaned as he limped to the door. When he grabbed the handle, he burst into tears. Or at least it seemed that way. His back was turned away from Molly and he made these muffled crying sounds as he buried his face in his hands.

"John...are you okay?" Molly asked genuinely concerned.

"I'm so *sniff* sorry, Molly! It's just *sniff* it's just that I already lost him once when he faked his death! I don't want to lose him again! He's my *sniff* best friend!" He said through muffled cries in his hands.

Molly walked up to him with a sigh. She rubbed his back. "John, I'm so sor-"

Before she could finish, John grabbed her by the head and slammed it on the door. She fell to the ground, passed out.

It was clear he was faking after that. Jim was a trained actor so it wasn't Molly's fault she fell for it.

He looked down at her body, shaking his head.

"Still so gullible, Molly."


	15. Chapter 15

_Sorry that this chapter is so overlong, drawn out and rather dull. Clearly not my best work, but that's what happens when you want your story to go from Point A to C without wanting to sprint past B in a way that makes sense. You could skip to the end if you'd like then move on to the much more involving chapters that follow. ._._

* * *

Sherlock, Castiel, and The Winchesters had just got off the train. Dean looked Sherlock down from head to toe as they walked out.

"How is it no one looks bothered that you're walking around in your robe and jammies?" Dean asked the detective.

Sherlock shrugged. "Stranger things have happened in London."

Dean nodded. "Well, we are in London so I'll give you that. Where to now?"

"Back to 221B I suppose." Sherlock responded quickly.

"You sure about that?" Sam asked. "Wouldn't your place be surrounded by cops and those...men in black by now?"

"Most likely." Sherlock nodded. "But there are a few things I am going to need from there so we'll have to take the risk."

"Such as?" Asked a curious Cas.

"Only two things really...clothes and a phone number." Sherlock answered.

_Meanwhile, in Mycroft's mansion..._

Mycroft had decided that it probably wasn't the best idea to go back to his apartment, thinking John may return. He hated the idea of being run out of even one of his many London homes, but he shuddered at what John would do had he returned, not to mention the things Mycroft would do to John if he saw him again. As much as he wanted to get his hands on John for what he did to him, he knew being bound to a wheelchair would leave him at a disadvantage so he decided to hide out at his London estate with Athena caring after him.

He was in his dining room. Athena had just poured him a cup of tea and set down a plate of stir fried chicken, which she made herself, in front of him.

"Thank you, Athena." He smiled up at her.

"Your welcome, sir." She smiled back at him.

He looked at his plate and gave a slight chuckle. "Funny, it's a little refreshing to see your face not shielded by that bloody phone for once."

As soon as he said that, he looked up to see her back on her phone.

He gave a smug frown and sighed. "I suppose I spoke too soon." He began cutting away at his chicken when his cell phone rang across the table.

"Hang that to me, would you please?" Mycroft asked sincerely.

Athena nodded, still doing who knows what on her phone, as she got it and handed it over to him. He answered, "Yes?"

It was Richard. "Sir, I got the documents from the FBI regarding those Americans that were with Sherlock."

"Well done, Richard. Perhaps you're not so useless afterall." Mycroft stated, in smug fashion of course.

Richard silently groaned and rolled his eyes. "The FBI were more than willing to comply."

"Oh really? Why's that?"

"Well, these boys have caused quite a bit of damage in America."

"How so?"

"Well, I'll send their mugshots later, but the gist of their story is they're brothers, Sam and Dean Winchester. They've been arrested in numerous states going on about some voodoo hoodoo."

"Voodoo hoodoo?" Mycroft raised an eyebrow.

"You know, magic, witches, monsters, demons..."

"Yes, yes! I know what voodoo hoodoo refers to! I just...what that's their excuse everytime?"

Rich nodded. "Yes, sir. Everytime." He opened both folders in his hands and skimmed through them. "Plenty of offenses. You name it...theft, breaking and entering, credit fraud, suspicion of murder but here's when it gets weird...grave desecration-"

"Grave desecration?" Asked an appalled Mycroft.

"Apparently, they said that when you kill a demon you have to burn the bodies afterwards. But that's not the weird part when you look at everything else."

Mycroft gasped. "Bloody Americans." He groaned to himself. "Mind sending me their mugshots now? I want to see what these hoodlums look like."

"Sure thing." Richard said.

Moments later, the pictures of the Winchesters mugshots were sent to Mycroft's phone. Still on the line with Richard on loudspeaker, Mycroft looked at both mugshots.

"The one with the hair is Sam and the pouty faced one is Dean." Richard said.

Mycroft nodded. "I see. Why is he pouting?"

"Something he called Blue Steel. Don't know what it means."

Mycroft sighed. "Does it say anything on how they did that magic trick you told me earlier? Just disappeared in that car?"

"No sir."

"Well, there's no doubt that my brother and these rapscallions would turn back up to 221B."

"Is your brother really stupid enough to return to a crime scene?"

"No, but it's not like he has many alternatives to hide. In case he does play the fool and return to 221B, I want you to wait right there for them. If you don't have the time to do so, which I sincerely doubt to be honest, get one of your men. Understand?"

"Yes sir."

"Good, get on it right away would you?" Mycroft said and then hung up, starting back on his stir fry.

A little bit later, Sherlock and his acquaintances walked down to Baker Street. The four peeked around the corner and stopped when they saw one of Mycroft's men guarding 221B.

Once the other three stopped, Castiel started walking towards the man.

"Castiel! What are you doing?!" Sherlock whispered softly, puzzled by the angel.

"It's alright. Don't worry. My angel knows what he's doing." Dean whispered with a grin.

Sherlock raised his eyebrow. "Your angel? I didn't know you two were...together. I mean, Sam joked about it, but I didn't think-"

Dean looked appalled. "No! We're not together! Shut up!" Dean whispered. Sam chuckled and Dean smacked his arm.

Castiel approached the man. Turns out that man was Richard. "Excuse me, sir. You can't be here. This is a closed investigation." Richard said, putting his hand up, signaling halt.

Castiel ignored this warning. He approached Richard and put two fingers to his forehead. Within seconds, Richard fell out, passed out.

Sherlock gasped in awe. Dean and Sam just smiled. "Come on." Sam said as him and Dean sprinted to the apartment. Sherlock shortly followed after he came to after the shock.

"Is he dead?" Sherlock asked Castiel as he sprinted passed Richard's body.

Castiel shook his head, following Sherlock inside. "Just incapacitated."

A little bit later, Castiel and The Winchesters waited for Sherlock to get dressed in proper clothes on the couch.

Sherlock returned out of his room in his signature suit and dress shirt with a black trenchcoat and blue scarf. He sat down on the chair.

"Now what? We can't stay here forever. Twinkletoes out there isn't gonna be out cold forever." Dean stated.

Sherlock nodded. "I understand, but we need to think of a game plan. We can't just dive in head first. It didn't work out too well last time."

"Last time, we didn't expect him to know about Binding Links." Dean said.

"You don't suppose he learned any other tricks in Hell, do you?" Sherlock asked.

"I sure as Hell hope not...no pun intended." Dean said.

"Of course." Sherlock responded and paused. "I already have an idea on how to combat Moriarty and bring back John, but do any of you three have any ideas?"

"We can't just barge in there, that's for sure. We'll all get flung to the walls again." Sam said.

Sherlock shook his head. "Not all of us. Probably just you two."

"What makes you so sure?" Dean asked.

"He considers me as his equal. He won't use his powers on me. He'll try to beat me when we're even." Sherlock told the brothers and their angel.

"What about me?" Castiel asked.

"Good question. Castiel, I think you'll be our most important asset in this predicament." Sherlock said.

Castiel squinted his eyes in confusion. "How so?"

"Well I assume an angel is more powerful than a demon, correct? And a demon just can't fling an angel all over the place, can they?"

Castiel shook his head.

"I thought so. So my suggestion is we distract him somehow and you teleport behind him. You'll grab him and I'll grab a firepoker and burn the seal off his arm."

"What if when we find him, we're not around any fire? Or firepokers?" Dean asked.

"Then somehow, we'll have to knock him out and get something to burn the link." Sherlock answered.

"How do you suggest we...*using air quotations* 'knock him out'...as you say." Castiel asked.

"You just leave that to me." Sherlock nodded.

"Well, where do we go now. It's a bit late to go on a manhunt and even if we did, looking around London for a madman is like trying to find a needle in a haystack." Sam said.

"That's what I was going to do next. We are going to spend the night at a colleage of mine's home. Her name is Molly." Sherlock said as he stood up and walked into John's room.

"How do you know he won't find us there." Dean asked.

Sherlock walked out, skimming through John's phone book. "Because he doesn't consider her one of my three friends."

"You only have three friends?" Dean asked.

Sherlock nodded, looking a bit embarrassed as he continued to skim John's phonebook.

"Don't feel bad, Sherlock. At least you have three friends. Aside from Cas, all our friends are dead." Sam said with ease. Dean glared at Sam as if that was inappropriate. Sam shrugged as if that was the truth.

"Why don't we go to those other friends of yours?" Dean asked.

"Well, friend is a strong word the more I think of it. Try only three people in the world I care about who genuinely care for me as well. The first would be Detective Greg Lestrade, who you saw on television earlier today. Hiding from the police and the Mycroft's men in the home of a detective wouldn't be the wisest choice now would it?"

Castiel shook his head. Sherlock continued.

"The second my landlady Mrs. Hudson. She has enough trauma to deal with in her life so I want her far away from this as possible. I sent her to stay a few weeks with her sister. As for the third...well he's being possessed by a madman. Ah, here it is!" He said as he finally found Molly's number. He ran to the telephone.

"And what of this Molly? What makes her so special...or lack therof?" Castiel asked.

"She cares for me. Don't understand why. She's a well off colleague but that's about it." He said as he dialed the number. Someone quickly answered.

"Sher...Sherlock." Asked Molly, who sounded more than a bit startled.

"Yes, Molly? I was hoping if-" Sherlock is interrupted by Molly.

"Run run run, as fast as you can...save the princess from the demonic man." She said, hyperventilating a bit.

Sherlock looked confused. "I'm sorry, what did you-"

"Your two favorite pals John and Jim...come right away if you want to see him." She said, gulping. Sherlock froze. Turns out at her home, Molly was strapped to a chair in the middle of the room, scared out of her mind reading from a paper John/Moriarty was holding for her, forehead bleeding. John/Moriarty grabbed the phone from her. His eyes were black.

"Hi Shirley! Like the poem I made for you? Sorry if it's a little...messy. I made it in five minutes. There's a few more lines, but I figured you would want to cut to the chase by now. Afterall, Molly's living room will get a lot more messy if you don't hurry. Her address should be next to her number in John's phonebook so...run run run." He said sinisterly.

Sherlock was baffled; damn near speechless. "How did you-"

"Oh, Sherlock. Don't you see yet? I know how you think. We're basically the same afterall. No need to deny it. I'm just 12 steps ahead of you by now. Now enough talk. Run run run." He hung up, leaving Sherlock there stunned.

John then dialed a new set of numbers on the phone and started speaking, pretending to sound panicked.

"Hello, police?! Help! Sherlock's gone mad!"


	16. Chapter 16

Once Moriarty hung up, Sherlock stood there in a daze, frozen. Practically petrified with his mind blank. In his daze, he dropped the phone on the ground.

The Winchesters and their angel stood up just as confused.

"Something wrong, Sherlock?" Dean asked.

"We have to go." Sherlock said in a bit of a panic.

"What happened?" Sam asked.

Sherlock's scrambled in his mind for an idea and there was only one that hit him. He sprinted to Castiel with John's phonebook in hand. "He has Molly. He is going to kill her! We have to get there now! Castiel, teleport us to her house!"

"Molly? I thought she was just a well off colleague? Why would he want her to begin with?" Castiel asked.

"Probably to throw me off. I immediately assumed he wouldn't go after her and he knew I would make that mistake!" Sherlock rushed with his words.

"This could be a trap." Castiel stated.

"It IS a trap! I'm sure of it, but that doesn't mean I'm going to sit back and let that psychopath kill her! Now..." He hastily opened the small pocket phonebook to Molly's address and showed it to Castiel. "...take us to this address!"

"I'm sorry, Sherlock, but I don't know where exactly that is. I don't have specific directions therefore I cannot take us there."

"You didn't have specific directions in the car!" Sherlock raised his voice.

"That's because-"

Sherlock interrupted with a scoff. "Oh right! I forgot! Dean 'prayed' to you and as soon as your angel senses started tingling, you flew off to wherever you heard his whereabouts!"

Dean stepped up. "Sherlock, calm down."

"DON'T TELL ME TO CALM DOWN! HE IS GOING TO KILL HER IF WE DON'T DO SOMETHING!"

"Oh, you don't think we've dealt with death threats from maniacs before?! Rushing in with our heads up our asses, not thinking, has got them killed plenty of times and just like you, we're not looking for more blood on our hands! Cooler heads prevail in tight situations like this so I'm going to tell you this once...be cool!" Dean said, raising his voice hoping some of that would have gotten to Sherlock.

All of it did. Sherlock sighed and sat down, stroking his temple. "You're right." He sat there for a few seconds, scrambling for an idea that will get them to Molly's place fast. Only one idea came to mind. He leaped out of his chair and headed out the door. "Come on!" He said as he leaped over Richard's still unconscious body.

The other three followed shortly behind. "Don't tell me we're walking all the way there!" Dean complained.

"Nonsense." Sherlock said as he walked across the street and elbowed a car window, shattering the glass. Car noise blared before Sherlock silenced it by fixing the wires. He opened the door.

"Um, Sherlock, you don't plan on driving do you? Maybe I or Dean could drive instead. Last time you were behind the wheel you almost got us killed." Sam suggested.

"You don't know your way around London like I do. Get in." Sherlock demanded as he got in the driver's seat. Sam sighed and shrugged as he took shotgun, leaving Dean and Castiel in the back.

Sherlock stomped his foot on the pedal and sped off to Molly's house.

_Meanwhile..._

"John" just finished his 999 call. He turned to Molly, still strapped in the chair with her hands tied behind her back with duct tape. Her feet were strapped with duct tape too. He turned to her giving a sinister grin.

"They'll be here shortly. The police and your boyfriend, along with his gang of misfits."

"He's not my boyfriend...and neither are you so don't try anything." She threatened.

He scoffed. "Please, Molly. I like my fish to moan, not whimper. Besides, we both know that ship's sailed. I've been inside you already. Not nearly as deep inside as I am in Johnny Boy here, mind you." He chuckled a bit before he continued as Molly glared angrily at him. "Anyway, you should know I'm not that kind of man. You should know me better than that by now."

"I don't know you all, Jim! I don't even understand...this! Whatever this is." She said looking down John's body from head to toe.

John rolled his eyes. "I told you. I'm just playing with John's body to play with Sherlock's pretty little head. Like how I played with you for sooo many nights. How you played with my pretty...head." He winked before giggling like a school girl.

"Go to Hell." She growled at him.

He groaned and rolled his eyes. "Why has everyone been saying that lately?" He mumbled. "You saw my dead body in the morgue, I'm sure. You know I've been there. What use would it be of me to go back?" He asked aloud; sarcastically and annoyed.

"Better there than here." She stated without hesitation, voice trembling slightly in fear even though she tried not to show it.

He stared at her with a coy smile. "That was cold, Molly. Not very clever, but cold."

"What was that 999 call about?" She asked curiously, hoping he'd lay off the insults if she'd change the subject a bit.

"Well, I hate to spoil the fun, nor do I want to expose my plan like some tired Bond villain, but it's not like you can stop me. Let's just say no matter how this night ends, the proper authorities should be here to collect the body."

"Sherlock won't die tonight." She disagreed.

"Who said anything about Sherlock's body?" He grinned. "Maybe it'll be yours. Maybe mine. No matter how it goes, it won't look pretty for any of us involved. Surely not those two Americans whom I can care less about. They're just in the way."

"Aren't I in the way?"

"Oh no, Molly. You're essential to this little game. You're bait. In fact, you can be more depending how things go. Who knows? Maybe when the night's over...you can end up like me." He said as he got up in her face and his eyes went black.

Trying not to show her fear, she headbutted him. He fell back on his arse as they both groaned in pain. The blood from her forehead poured a little more after that hit. He leaped off the ground in anger.

"You filthy harlot!"

He screamed as he ran up to her. He raised his hand to her, as if he was going to come down and give her a hard slap to the face. She squinted her eyes and squeeled in terror. For some reason, he couldn't go through with it. He tried, but he couldn't go through with harming her. He had no problem harming her emotionally, as he usually did with everyone...especially his lovers...but for some reason he could not cause any physical harm. She opened one eye in confusion, sure that he was going to hit her, but he just stuffed his hand in his pocket and sighed. He tried to come up with a proper reason to why he couldn't. He wanted to tell himself that maybe John got a hold of his body this time, but he knew that couldn't be it. He had complete control of the body for so long that he doubted anything could cause him to break his will now. He scoffed, averting his eyes away from Molly, dismissing that he could actually had feelings for this woman.

He stroked his head, in pain and confusion. "That was bold of you, Molly. Painfully stupid, but bold. I'm impressed. It was unlike you." He humored her.

"You don't know me." She said through gritted teeth.

He chuckled a bit. "You forget, Molly, that I used to date you. I've been inside of you and I'm not just talking about those blue satin laced knickers you know I love so much." He winked.

She adverted her eyes in disgust of the man and gulped.

"See, for the few weeks we dated...I was inside your head. In between shags, you used to always tell me your deepest...darkest secrets. Like how you watched your father die, hit by a car when you were seven years old. How you feel so guilty to this very day because you asked him to get you a scoop of ice cream from across the street. He didn't want you to be late to your ballet rehearsal so he rushed, not looking both ways and then BOOM! That was one mess all the king's horses and all the king's men could not put back together again."

"Stop it, Jim." Whispered a heartbroken Molly.

He dismissed her warning, continuing. "At a young age it got your little adrenaline pumping, starting your obsessions with dead bodies. The anatomy. But you didn't always want to work in a morgue. At first, you wanted to go and become a child therapist, give kids the help that you never got. Help them deal with the trauma you never got over, but no. You knew you couldn't handle seeing so many sad, droopy little faces because you could barely handle seeing your own sad, droopy little face in the mirror. Sometimes, you still can't. So you settled on working in a morgue...the most peaceful place you can ever be. Well...peaceful until Sherlock steps inside but that's beside the point. The morgue is where you find peace...but it's still where you feel the most lonely. Even more lonely than usual and thanks to Sherlock, you feel even more ignored and unloved there."

"I said...stop." She tried to bark, but a whimper came out. She tried to hold back her tears, but one tear trickled down her right cheek as she sniveled.

He sighed as he crouched down on one knee and gently wiped her tear with his thumb, being gentle with his actions while still being harsh in his words.

"You see, my little Molly Mouse, that's why Sherlock dismissed my little gay play. Just as he dismisses you. Because anything and anyone he's aware you're involved with, he see's as a waste and a distraction. Because he dismisses you as anything more than...just Molly. That lonely...irrelevant...disposable cat lady who's useful only when he needs her." He said sincerely, though coming off as harsh.

"You bastard." She muttered in a broken tone.

He chuckled a bit through a smirk and a shrug. "Speaking of cats...what happened to Toby?"

She sighed with an eye roll. "He died...thanks to one of Sherlock's experiments."

"Ah...poor Toby. I liked him."

They heard a car hit a mailbox. He laughed a bit as he turned to the door. "If Sherlock still hasn't taken any proper driving lessons, that's probably him."

Just then, Sherlock kicked the door in and barged inside, glaring at Moriarty before glancing at Molly.

Moriarty rose from the ground, still smirking. "Well what do you know...the cavalries arrived."


	17. Chapter 17

Sherlock and Moriarty stared at each other, eye to eye from a distance. Molly looked on in her chair worried. Sherlock took a few steps inside.

"Let her go, Moriarty." He warned.

Moriarty scoffed. "Next, you'll expect me to leave John's body without a fight."

"She has nothing to do with this."

"Yeah, but I like an audience." He looked sharply at Sherlock. "You're alone, well, it appears so. Those Americans aren't with you so I assume you told them to jump me from behind, sneaking through the back. And that fellow in the trenchcoat can't teleport inside of here so that's why he's standing in the middle of the road dazed and confused. Am I correct?" He gave a sly grin.

Sherlock looked bewildered, briefly glancing behind him to see Castiel in the middle of the street with his face riddled in confusion more so than usual. Sherlock turned back to Moriarty, wondering how he knew they were accompanied now by the angel. "How did you-"

"Because I know things!" Moriarty said with a grin and a shrug. "Just bring him in!" He sounded a bit impatient, as if he couldn't wait to reveal something.

Sherlock didn't know what else to do so he waved Castiel to come inside. Castiel did just that, sprinting inside but suddenly, he disappeared in a white flash. Sherlock's eyes lit confused.

"What just happened to him?! What did you do?!"

"Look behind the door." Moriarty ordered.

Sherlock looked suspiciously at him before doing that. On the door was some kind of symbol drenched in what appeared to be blood.

"That, Sherlock, is what they call an Angel Sigil. It banishes angel's from the area so whatever tricks you have up your sleeve now you'll have to do without your new angel friend." Moriarty clarified.

"How in the Hell did you know he was an angel?" Sherlock asked puzzled.

"You just answered your own question." Moriarty said with a chuckle. "You don't think I haven't heard of your American friends? The Winchesters are infamous throughout Hell. I knew they looked familiar the moment I saw them. Just as they were described to me and when they said they both spent time in Hell I just knew I was in the presence of legends. Dean Winchester, the vessel of Michael...Sam Winchester, the vessel of Big Daddy himself, though The King of Hell likes to refer to him as moose for some reason...then there's Castiel, the traitor of Heaven. They call them Team Free Will. Don't know how, but they turned their backs on their own destinies and put fate in their own hands. Or have they?"

"What is that supposed to mean?" Sherlock asked with an eyebrow raise.

"Let's just say Hell has some plans for those boys before this storybook closes."

"And how is this...storybook...supposed to end?" Asked a genuinely curious Sherlock, though he was merely providing a distraction.

"Let's not spoil the surprise, Sherlock, but just know there will be blood, carnage, and bodies. Lots and lots of bodies. Might start with this one."

Moriarty said as he spun around and blocked a punch from Dean who creeped behind him. Moriarty blocked another punch and pushed Dean back, taking pleasure in playing with his food.

Meanwhile, while Moriarty was distracted, Sam quickly ran in and whispered something in Molly's ear and put a small razor in her hand. He finished his whispers with softly saying to her "Trust me on this."

As Moriarty flung Dean to the wall, Sam charged at Moriarty, but Moriarty flung Sam right next to his brother. They were stuck to the wall. Moriarty shook his head in disappointment. "These were the vessels for two of the most powerful archangels in existence?" He turned to Sherlock with a baffled look on his face. "These are who you called on to exorcise me? These are the infamous hunters who have saved the day countless times from angels, demons, lions, tigers, and bears? Oh my...how disappointing."

Sherlock shrugged. "So what now?"

Moriarty slowly removed his jacket and put it on the couch. He rolled up his sleeves, revealing the Binding Link on one arm. "Now our game ends. Winner gets to see how the story ends."

Sherlock removed his scarf and trenchcoat, putting them on the coat rack by the door. "Does it really have to end in another childish fist fight?"

Moriarty chuckled. "Of course it does, but I suppose I can delay it for a bit, for now at least. I can see why you don't wanna fight someone who looks like your friend. You already crippled him again."

"His leg is straining him again?" Asked a concerned Sherlock.

"Don't worry. It's only an on and off temporary thing. This body's been through worse so he'll live. For now."

Sherlock glared at him.

"Care for a drink? If we're not gonna fight yet, we might as well have a sort of calming before the actual storm. Think of it as a toast before leaving kind of deal." Moriarty asked.

Sherlock shrugged and sighed. "I'm not much of a drinker, but why not?"

Moriarty nodded, limping his way towards the kitchen. "We're a tad strained on time, but we still have plenty of time."

"Why would we be strained on time?" Sherlock asked as he followed him into the kitchen.

"He called the police." Molly spoke up.

Moriarty spun around and turned to Molly giving her a glare. "Hush!" He hissed, putting a finger on his lips before walking away.

Sherlock winked at Molly, mouthing off the words "Now." to her before walking off with Moriarty. Once he said that, she started cutting the duct tape from her wrists with the razor Sam gave her.

Sherlock sat down at the table as Moriarty grabbed two glasses from Molly's cabinet along with the vodka bottle from earlier and poured. "Sherlock, you're quite calm right now. Even calmer than earlier. I'd be awfully suspicious if I didn't know you were, as Americans would put it...'shit out of luck'" He chuckled a bit as his own joke.

Sherlock chuckled, but not at the joke. More so because of how clueless Moriarty was about his back up plan. "Paranoid that I have another trick up my sleeve?"

"Not really." Moriarty shook his head as he handed Sherlock his glass. "Even if you do, I've made some preparations."

"You plan on returning from the dead, again?" Sherlock started to drink, but Moriarty put his hand over his glass.

"Not yet. Toast, remember?"

"Ah, yes. Of course." Sherlock set his glass down.

Moriarty grinned. "Anyway, I don't plan on returning from the dead. If the night does end in your favor, I think the police will have some opposing say in the matter. Or more likely, the British government." He sat down in front of Sherlock, glass in hand. "I doubt you'll be clever enough to find a way around what's happened the last few days. I know John certainly won't."

"Well, don't you worry about that. You leave that to me." Sherlock said, giving a coy smile and staring in Moriarty's eyes. Well, John's eyes.

Moriarty chuckled. "Were you just talking to John again? How cute."

The smile from Sherlock's face vanished. "Shall we get this over with?" He asked, raising his glass.

"If you insist. Impatient as always." He raised his glass to Sherlock's. "To friendship." He toasted Sherlock's glass, trying to sound sincere with a smirk. Sherlock glared at him with a scoff. Moriarty started to drink his glass before Sherlock spoke.

"Moriarty, please. Don't try to act like John. Nobleness never quite suited you." Sherlock smirked himself, drinking his glass.

Moriarty gave Sherlock a quick smirk before his face dissolved into bits of fury as he tossed his drink in Sherlock's face as Sherlock drank his. Sherlock quickly shielded his eyes, putting his arm up in front of his face, expecting Moriarty's moves just as Moriarty expects his. Moriarty leaped out of his seat and ran over to Sherlock to punch him in the face, but Sherlock leaped up almost simulataneously and just as Moriarty raised his fist, Sherlock punched him in the rib and uppercutted him. Moriarty stumbled a bit from that, realizing that that hit caused his mouth to bleed. Even though it was John's blood to begin with, he hated that Sherlock had just caused him to spill blood so he tackled Sherlock to the ground, throwing them both back into the living room.

At this very moment, Molly broke herself free of the duct tape on both her hands and her feet. When Sherlock and Moriarty stumbled back in, she was so frightened she practically became glued to her seat; too petrified to move as Sherlock and Moriarty began to trade blows.

"Hey!" Dean whispered to Molly through clenched teeth. Molly looked up at the stranger on the wall. "I think now's a pretty good time to do what you gotta do, don't you?!" He whispered again. Sam motioned his head over to the fireplace, where a large firepoker laid.

Moriarty kicks Sherlock off of him, causing the detective to fall directly on his arse. Moriarty leaps up and runs at him to kick Sherlock in the face but Sherlock grabs his leg and sweeps the demonic psychopath onto the ground, face first. Sherlock leaps on his back, smashing his head against the ground a couple times before Moriarty manages to get on his feet, Sherlock latched on his back, and slams him to the ground. The pain in Sherlock's back now is so sharp, he's having trouble catching his breathe and he can't get up for a few seconds.

Moriarty used this time to run into the kitchen and grab a steak knife from a wooden block set on the table. He runs back to Sherlock in the living room and raises his knife to him, about to come down hard on Sherlock's chest. Luckily, Sherlock dodges out of the way. Moriarty comes down again and Sherlock rolls out of the way, jumping to his feet.

Sherlock grabbed a glass from the living room table, the glass Molly drank out of which still had a bit of vodka in it. He tossed it in Moriarty's face, causing him to drop the knife. His eyes began to sting. "Bastard!" He screamed as he clenched his eyes. Sherlock cracked the glass over Moriarty's head, causing him to fall to the ground. He appeared to be knocked out. Sherlock stood over his body, trying to catch his breathe. He looked up at the Winchesters then back at Molly.

"Sorry about your home Molly. I'll pay for the renovations. Now could you-" Sherlock was interrupted by Moriarty sweeping him by the legs and jumping on top off him. He punched him a couple times.

"Lucky for you, John has a thick head!" He shouted as he punched Sherlock another time, now a bit of blood pouring from the detective's mouth.

Molly creeped out of her seat without either noticing. She went to the fireplace and pulled out the firepoker.

"I hope you're ready to die!" Moriarty shouted at Sherlock as he went for the knife, but before he could grab it, Molly hit Moriarty square in the face with the firepoker, which was in the lit fireplace all night so it was steaming hot. Moriarty yelped in pain as he fell off Sherlock. He glared at Molly when he quickly came to. "That wasn't very nice was it?!" He screamed as he stood. In fear, she took a few steps back. Sherlock managed to crawl off the ground, blood spewing out his mouth, as Moriarty approached Molly slowly.

"Sherlock! The seal! Wipe it out!" Dean shouted. Sherlock nodded and stumbled onto the door.

"Oh no you don't!" Moriarty warned before Molly hit him again. In angered, he clenched his cut face with one hand and grabbed the firepoker from her with the other.

Sherlock took his forearm and wiped the seal out, smearing away most of the blood.

Moriarty raised the firepoker to Molly, but before he could bring it down, Castiel teleported behind him, putting him in a full nelson. Moriarty tried to squirm out, but it was no use. He dropped the firepoker.

"Molly!" Sherlock called, coughing a bit of blood. "Take the poker and place it on the symbol on his arm!"

Molly saw the symbol and picked up the firepoker.

"Molly! Pet! Don't you dare!" Moriarty warned.

She placed the firepoker firmly on the Binding Link, burning the symbol off.

Moriarty screamed in pain as his mouth gapped open and he shouted at the ceiling. Black smoke spewed from his mouth and then he fell to the ground, trying to catch his breathe. The Winchester dropped off the wall and on their feet.

Moriarty was gone. John had returned.

"What...what just happened?" John asked as he looked around the room.

Sherlock slowly walked over to his friend. "John...is it really you?"

John nodded. Sherlock sprinted to his friend and hugged him tightly. John patted his back, rubbing a bit. Sherlock stood up afterwards, not ashamed of showing public displays of affections for once. Once he got up, Molly hit John in the face with the firepoker, knocking him out.

"Molly?!" Sherlock spouted in confusion. "It's John!"

"Just making sure." She shrugged with fire in her eyes.

Just then, men in black swarmed inside of the house, clearing aligned with the British government. They pointed their guns at everyone in the room.

"Everyone, hands where I can see them! Ma'am, put that thing down!" Warned one of them. "You, in the trenchcoat! Hands u-" Before he could finish, Castiel disappeared, teleporting God knows where, leaving the men in black puzzled.

Everyone else did as they were told, Molly quickly dropping the firepoker. Sherlock sighed.

"Gentlemen, I assure you, this is not what it looks like. Not quite anyway."


	18. Chapter 18 (The End)

_Interrogation #1: John Watson_

John sat there at the table in the darkly lit interrogation room, groaning and holding his head in pain. Richard walked in, with an antagonizing grin on his face.

"Well if it isn't London's latest psychopath, John Hammish Watson. Finally shown your true colors haven't you?"

John sighed. "Look, you've got it all wrong. I didn't kill anybody."

"Witnesses confirm a man who fits your same description was the last to see prostitute Karen Williams the night of her murder. Can you confirm or deny your involvement?"

John rubs his head in agony. "I swear, I've never slept with a prostitute before in my life. To my knowledge, I doubt that I've ever met one."

"According to my boss, Mr. Mycroft Holmes, you walked into his home and attacked him. Confirm or deny?"

"I remember doing it, but I didn't do it. My hands did the deed, but I didn't control them. I can't explain. Things are fuzzy still so I really can't-"

Richard scoffed. "Psychopathic killer suddenly gets a case of amnesia once he's caught? How convenient is that, doctor?"

"You've got it all wrong-"

Richard interrupts with a shout. "No, YOU'VE got it all wrong! All wrong in your head that is!"

John gulped. "Look here, mate-"

"My mates aren't killers."

"I'm not a killer."

"Don't lie to me! Probably would have killed Ms. Molly Hooper if we never got on the scene when we did! That's why she hit you over the head with that firepoker! That's why she's a bloody wreck out there! Confirm or deny?!"

"Uh...uh..." John whimpered in fear; not of Richard, but what's been going on. He feared he had actually gone crazy.

"Don't lie to me! You killed that woman! You beat the shit out of my boss without any remorse! You are a killer!"

John cried and whimpered like a child in his seat. "No...no! I swear, I didn't-"

"Yes John! You did!" Richard interrupted in a scolding manner. "You, John Watson, are a psychopath! Just like your friend Sherlock!"

John stopped crying and looked up at Richard, glaring at him. He leaped up and grabbed Richard by the collar, punching him in the face. He grabbed him again once he fell to the ground and started punching him over and over until two men in black barged in the room and separated the two. They tried to pull John out of the room.

"Sherlock Holmes is not a psychopath! Understand! Don't you dare downgrade him like that again! Or I'll show you how a bloody mad man really acts!" John screamed as the men halled him out of the room. Richard laid on the floor, trying to catch his breathe, rubbing his now bleeding chin and lip.

* * *

_Interrogation #2 Sam Winchester_

"Um, you know your lip is cut right? What happened there?" Sam asked.

"Nothing!" Said a defensive Richard, who tried to cover it with his hand. "Nothing at all!"

"And your chin? Why do you have a band-aid on it?"

Richard groaned, embarassed and annoyed. "Look! I am the one asking the questions right now!"

Sam chuckled, putting his hands up. "Alright man. Geez, be cool."

"Oh I'll be cool alright! I'll be cool when you tell me what this is about!" He whipped out a jar of salt. "What were you doing with this cocaine in your bag?"

Sam couldn't help but give out a hearty laugh. "You do realize I studied at Stanford to be a lawyer, right? Come on. Anything but the drug bribe."

"Is this yours or not?!"

Sam sighed, chuckling a bit. He expected the British government would have been a little more impressive than this. "Yes. That is my salt."

"The Hell are you doing carrying around salt in London?"

Sam shrugged. "Never know when you need to whip out some salt. I like it on my fries. If you get me some now, I'll be more than happy to demonstrate how to use my salt."

Richard glared at Sam. "You being coy with me, boy?"

"Does it matter if I am? It's not like you guys can do anything to me or my brother." Sam pointed out.

"And why's that, Mr. Law Student?" Richard stood there, stuffing his hands in his pocket.

"I'm glad you asked, Mr. Ass Wagon." He gave a cheeky grin to Richard, who glared at him annoyed, as he leaned back in his chair and crossed his legs. "See, me and my brother have diplomatic immunity, meaning as long as we're American citizens, you Brits can't charge us with anything even if you had something on us, which clearly you don't judging by this amateur trick." He said pointing at the salt.

Richard just glared at Sam, not knowing how to respond. "You know you're quite the smartass, you know that?"

Sam nodded. "Can I have my french fries now?"

* * *

_Interogation #3: Dean Winchester_

Dean looked at Richard, pointing to his own lip.

"Dude, you know your-"

Richard nodded. "Yes." He said in a defeated tone.

"And your-" Dean pointed at his own chin.

"Yes! Now, I've had a Hell of a night tonight so I'm not in the mood for any of your crap!"

Dean chuckled. "Woah man, take it easy."

"Don't tell me what to do! I knew there was a reason I didn't like you earlier! You had the mouth on you but I've seen your file and I understand your game! I even understand the method to your madness. A mother, burned in a fire...a father, a little rough around the edges I presume..."

Dean interrupted with a scoff. "Dude, I've been held in rooms like these longer than I care to remember and I've heard all those tired detective speeches by now. If you're seriously gonna go with the 'parents made me crazy' talk, I am gonna punch you in the face."

Richard and Dean glared at each other.

* * *

_Interrogation #4: Sherlock Holmes_

Lestrade stormed into the interrogation room where Sherlock sat. "Sherlock! What the Hell have you gotten yourself into now?!"

Sherlock raised an eyebrow, sitting as calmly as he was before he walked in. "Lestrade. What a surprise. I expected them to just use their own men."

"Well, they are, but they said I'm probably the only one you'll listen to. Reason with at least."

Sherlock chuckled. "They really believe that?"

Lestrade groaned in anger. "Sherlock, this is not the time to be clever!"

Sherlock chuckled even more after that; more like a laugh actually. "You say that as if I have a choice! What are my alternatives? Bone head stupid or

"Sherlock! Molly is a wreck out there! What happened?"

Sherlock sighed. "If I told you, you'd look at me as if I was insane."

"Well, give me something!"

"Lestrade, I understand why you're upset. In most close-knit relationships, from what I've read, when you're upset, she's upset and vice versa and I'm sure she's more than confused and even a bit traumatized. I'm terribly sorry about that."

Lestrade scoffed. "No you're not."

Sherlock chuckled. "You're right. Not really. She'll get over it. It just takes time, but trust me, she will."

Lestrade rolled his eyes and sighed. "Can you at least tell me-"

Richard barged in, now with a black eye.

"The Hell are you doing barging in like this? I was making progress." Lestrade stated.

"No, you weren't. I'll take this over with if you don't mind." Richard protested.

Lestrade sighed as he headed out the door. "I'll take Molly home, but I want to hear from you first thing in the morning, Sherlock!" He walked out.

Sherlock laughed a bit at the sight of Richard. "The blazes happened to you?"

"It doesn't matter! I have a few questions for you! The fella in the trenchcoat? What happened to him? How did he disappear? Who is he?"

Sherlock chuckled a bit. "The fella was a man in a trenchcoat. He disappeared. You answered your own question. If I told you who he was, you'd have me locked up in a mental asylum for sure."

Richard groaned. "I am sick of your little Brady Bunch making a mockery of me and this entire establishment! Now I want a straight answer, for once out of one of ya!"

"No need to shout. If you want to know who he was, he was a magician."

Richard glared at Sherlock, nostrils flaring and eyes filled with rage. "Don't be clever."

"Trust me, I can be more clever, not like it would be a challenge of any sort."

Richard looked frustrated, insulted, and rather embarassed and out of options as he did one more thing he could think of doing...

"Are you abusing again?!" He pulled out a tiny bag of salt. Sherlock just glared at him as if Richard was bone head stupid.

"You're talking to a former drug addict. You really don't think I can tell the difference between salt and cocaine from a distance?"

* * *

_Interrogation #5: Everyone_

The Winchesters, the consulting detective, and the good doctor all sit together at one end of the table, waiting for someone. For most of their wait, John was convinced that he really had gone mad. It sounded like a more logical explanation than a demon possessing his body.

"I...I killed someone...I think." John whimpered.

Sherlock rolled his eyes. "No you didn't. Shut up and pull yourself together."

"But I-"

"Shut up." Sam and Dean interrupted simultaneously.

Just then, Mycroft was rolled in his wheelchair by Athena, who caught Dean's attention immediately. She rolled him up to the opposite end of the table across from the boys.

"Hey there. What's your name?" Dean asked her with a grin.

"Not interested." Athena said bluntly, shielding her face in front of her phone as she left. Dean checked her out from behind as she walked out. Mycroft cleared his throat when he noticed.

"Sorry man, you hitting that?" Dean asked.

"If I was, it would be none of your business!" Mycroft answered, a bit insulted, raising his voice.

"Geez, sorry. Just making conversation." Dean shrugged.

Mycroft scoffed. "Trust me, we already have a lot to converse about. My man Richard...incompetent man mind you *sigh*...hasn't made any progress and I want the truth."

"Mr. Holmes, you wouldn't believe us if we tried." Sam stated.

"Sam, I don't believe I was talking to you. You and your brother have diplomatic immunity afterall. I was speaking to my brother and...John." He said with a snarl at John. John tried to avert his eyes a way from Mycroft, but he could tell Mycroft's eyes were burning a hole in his own skull.

"He didn't do anything, Mycroft. I assure you." Said Sherlock.

Mycroft stared at his brother insulted. "I beg to differ, baby brother. You must really think of me as a fool. I saw him with my own eyes when he attacked me. The bastard crippled me, as you can tell."

Sherlock rolled his eyes. "Your legs are fine. At least they are now. From here, I can tell your tapping your knee and everytime you tapped your knee, it was your tell-tale that you were angry. It's been like that since we were children and you must think of me as a fool for me not to notice."

Mycroft looked down at his knee and he was unintentionally tapping it. He looked up, a little embarrassed.

"Let me guess, brother, trying to milk this a little longer than needed?" He asked with a smirk.

Mycroft chuckled. "You know me far too well." Sherlock chuckled along with him before Mycroft continued. "But alas, there's really no use in persuading me. All evidence points to John and I just want to know why-"

Sherlock interrupts. "I could explain everything that's happened over the last few days and you'd think I'm insane."

Mycroft scoffed. "Try me."

Sherlock sighed. "Alright, but remember...you asked."

And so Sherlock told his brother the entire story, with the Winchesters stepping in a couple times to fill in some blanks. About how Moriarty escaped Hell and possessed John and went on a rampage in his body. The whole thing.

After he was finished, Mycroft looked at the four with a dumbstruck face. He was nearly speechless for a couple minutes until he said..."I believe you."

"What?" Said the four simultaneously.

"I believe you." Mycroft repeated. "You've said and done ridiculous things before, this is by far the most ridiculous. Even for you. There is no possible way you'd come to me with this information unless it was the honest truth. No one else in the public knows about John's...I mean Moriarty's...actions so I suppose I could just turn my back on this. On one condition."

Sherlock raised an eyebrow. "Name it."

"Not everyone out there is going to believe John was possessed so to make up for John's strange behavior, I think John should spend a month in rehab. Just in case anyone caught wind of his actions"

"Rehab?!" John said in shock.

"Deal." Sherlock responded.

"Deal?! Don't I have any say in the matter?!" John raised his eyebrows, appalled.

"No. Shut up. Besides, I was in rehab for a year. You spent years in Afghanistan. I'm sure you can handle a measley month in rehab." Sherlock responded. John sighed.

"Excellent." Mycroft nodded. "Now, anything to add before we depart?"

Sam, Sherlock, and John shook their heads before Dean asked... "By any chance, do you have that chick's number?"

"Get out." Mycroft ordered with a glare.

* * *

Later, the four left the interrogation room and to a diner. They all spoke and drank coffee.

John sighed as he sipped his coffee. "I hope Molly'll be alright."

Sherlock nodded. "She will. Eventually. It's probably best you don't see her for a long, long, long time. Just seeing your face could cause a sudden relapse."

John nodded. "That won't be a problem. I'll be in bloody rehab after all." He mumbled.

"Are either of you...with her?" Dean asked.

"God no." Sherlock said without hesitation, sipping his coffee.

"Absolutely not." John shook his head.

Both Sam and Dean looked shocked at how bluntly they replied. "Well damn." Dean stated.

John chuckled. "Oh no, I don't mean to sound as rude as my friend here. No, she's already dating someone. Detective Inspector Lestrade. Actually, I myself have been seeing a woman named Mary recently."

Sherlock looked at his friend next to him with a baffled and rather appalled look on his face. "Mary? You never told me you were dating a Mary?"

"Because you hate all my girlfriends, Sherlock. In fact, you often tend to scare them off."

Sherlock laughed a bit to himself. "I do no such thing."

John gave an annoyed sigh. "Oh really? Remember Jeanette? Amanda? Kelly? Sophie? Jenny?"

"Alright, maybe a couple times." Sherlock admitted.

"A couple? You sure about? I wasn't finished. I could go on." John asked.

Sherlock sighed and rolled his eyes. "I never said it was intentional."

"I'll never know that for sure." John took a sip of his coffee.

Dean and Sam chuckled. "You two already sound like a couple. Might as well go with him." Sam suggested to John.

John sighed and rolled his eyes. "God...we are not a couple! Why does everyone think that!"

"Because people can't accept the fact that two males can have a strong bond without being in a relationship." Sherlock pointed out.

Dean nodded. "Yeah, we get what you're saying."

John raised an eyebrow. "Some people think you're a couple? But you're brothers? Who would draw such a sick conclusion?"

Sam nodded. "Two words...slash fiction." He said as he sipped his coffee.

John nodded. "Oh, tell me about it. That's just the worst. The work they put into it is extraordinary and I'm flattered anyone would...'ship'...me with anyone, but not him."

Sherlock looked at John insulted. "What's that supposed to mean? Not him? And what the Hell is slash fiction?"

Dean, Sam, and John unanimously said "You don't want to know."

Sherlock shrugged, looking at the Winchesters across from him. "Oh well. What I do know is that I am eternally grateful to you both for saving his life."

"As am I, indubitably grateful." John added. "Is there anyway we could repay you?"

Sam shook his head. "No, keep your money."

Dean glared at Sam. "Dude why do you always turn down money?"

"Because we don't do it for the money. It's about saving people's lives."

"Why can't money just be like a...token of a appreciation? You wouldn't turn down thank you sex from a hot chick." Dean stated.

"You've got a point there." Sam shrugged. "Who knows, maybe they could make it up to us if we ever solve another case together one day." Sam added.

John immediately shook his head with a chuckle. "Oh, no. Absolutely not. After tonight, I never want to take on a case like this again."

"And in our busy schedule, I doubt we'll ever have time for one of your boring cases." Dean added, chuckling.

"Tell me, Dean, do you think either of you will be returning to London again?" Sherlock asked.

Dean didn't answer, keeping the same facial expression and pose as if he was stuck in time. Sherlock looked at him confused. "Dean?"

He didn't answer. Sherlock soon realized that him, along with everyone else in the diner, had froze. Time itself had froze and Sherlock was the only one aware of it. Bewildered at the scene, he stood up snapping his fingers at John, Dean, and Sam with no avail. He went to a table near the door and did the same, this time clapping his hands. Nothing. He returned to his table and did the same thing again.

Suddenly, the bell at the top of the diner's revolving door rang, signaling someone was walking in. Sherlock spun around, averting his attention to the door to see who could be walking in.

"Well...well...well..." Said a bearded, Irish man walking into the diner who caught a puzzled Sherlock's eyes immediately. "Rapunzel's gathered around with a moose, a hedgehog, and an otter. Guess which one you are, pet?" He asked Sherlock, who was beyond puzzled by now.

"What's going on?" Asked Sherlock.

"Oh, what this?" The man asked, pointed at the frozen people around the room. "This is a temporary thing. Just a little spell I learned way back in the day. I'll change everything back to normal once we're done, but I just had to meet you in the flesh. With no distractions, obviously."

"And who is it I'm talking to?"

"Oh, bloody Hell! How rude of me! Where are my manners?" The man chuckled a bit as he extended his hand to Sherlock. "Name's **Crowley**, though you've only heard of my reputation...I'm **The King of Hell**...at your service."

Sherlock's eyes widened as he took a few steps back away from Crowley.

Crowley took back his hand and scoffed. "Of course. Wise choice. Don't shake hands with a demon, let alone a Crossroads Demon. Mummy and daddy taught you well."

"So you're the one who sicked your Hell Hound on me?"

Crowley raised an eyebrow. "I didn't sick any of my dogs on you?"

Sherlock raised an eyebrow of his own, soon realizing Hell Hound must be a kind of actual dog from Hell. "I meant Moriarty." He clarified.

Crowley nodded. "Oh...for the record, I had nothing to do with that."

Sherlock scoffed. "Really? So someone just happened to walk out of the King of Hell's domain without your permission?"

"Exactly. Though, Hell has been under new management lately. I took over after Lucifer fell into his cage."

"I thought Hell was a cage?"

Crowley shook his head. "No, no, no, the cage is in Hell but the cage conceals Lucifer. You really think God would have given him a home of his own and let him play with his toys?"

Sherlock shrugged. "Well, yes. He was his favorite son afterall."

Crowley smirked. "I see you've done your research. I'm impressed."

Sherlock gave a brief, but coy, smirk in return. "Did you come here to boast my name or kill me? Mind you, Moriarty failed twice. How far do you think you'll last?"

Crowley let out a hearty laugh. "Oh! Oh, that is rich! Threaten The King of Hell! You really do got a pair on you boy!" He laughed some more before continuing. "But no, I don't wanna kill you. In fact, when I caught wind of your work in London, I sort of admired you from a distance. Watched your moves. I thought you'd be useful in my army I'm creating. One of my right hand men but after awhile, I knew you'd never comply. Even if you did, you wouldn't be welcomed into Hell with open arms."

"And why is that?" Sherlock asked.

"Isn't it obvious?" Crowley pointed out. Sherlock squinted his eyes in confusion. Crowley continued. "But, I found someone who was just like you, only he was crazy enough to comply."

"Moriarty." Sherlock answered quickly.

Crowley nodded. "Correctumundo. As a Crossroads Demon, I can persuade anyone to give me their soul for a simple wish in return. You know what he wanted in return?" Sherlock shook his head. "The opportunity to torture your soul for a millennia. So we sealed the deal, waiting for the right moment to put this plan in effect. Unfortunately, the more I got to know him, I realized a mad man with nothing left to lose who's willing to kill himself just to torture you is not a man I can trust so after he shot himself that day on the roof, I kinda cut off our deal which isn't very professional, but I couldn't bring you in Hell anyway so the deal was dead from the start."

"Because I didn't die that day?"

"No, death can happen any day of the week. The problem is like I said, you cannot enter Hell and if you don't understand why yet then you truly are disappointing me. Anyway, he didn't like that he couldn't have you so in a fit, he escaped Hell, entered John..." Crowley briefly pointed at the frozen John. "...and the rest is history."

"What of you and me then?"

Crowley shrugged. "I don't know about you, but I'm on a quest to find Purgatory for now, but in a whole sense, I plan on becoming the new ruler of Hell. Become the new Satan. Me and an angel, who you know very well, who is trying to become the new God." Sherlock's eyes widened as Crowley chuckled. "The poor naïve bastard really thinks he's working for a 'good cause' to save Heaven. If it was up to me, I'd have it burned. In fact, I think I will once I take my rightful position."

"They'll stop you, you know that? They stopped Lucifer, what makes you think they won't stop you?" Sherlock pointed out, motioning to the frozen Winchesters.

Crowley scoffed. "Because I don't underestimate these boys like Lucifer did. I'm counting on them to try and I'm counting on them to win a few battles along the way, but at the end of the war, I'll be the king and you can quote me on that. No need to even tell them about this conversation. Either way, they'll be in for a Hell of a year to come. Trust me."

"What of me then?"

"You? You never have to see me again, or deal with anything supernatural again. I can't stand London to begin with so your home is pretty much safe. You're safe. At least you're done with things that go bump in the night. You're no use to me to begin with."

"And why's that?"

"Because you, dear boy, are on the side of the angels." Crowley winked before he headed out the door. Sherlock raised an eyebrow. "Take care, otter." He snapped his fingers as he walked out. Everything went back to normal.

"I am not a bloody otter!" Sherlock barked. John and the Winchesters looked at him puzzled.

"No one said you were one?" Sam pointed out. "When'd you get up anyway? I was looking right at you?"

Sherlock sighed, realizing telling them about Crowley's plans probably would be of now use. He sat back down. "I'm just quick on my feet I suppose."

They continued their conversation as normal and then The Winchesters took their plan back to America first thing in the morning. For both the detectives and the Winchesters, things went back to normal. Well, as normal as two brothers hunting monsters and two grown men solving crimes while one blogs about it can be.

_Meanwhile, in __**Hell**__..._

Moriarty, the REAL Moriarty, found himself strapped naked to a gurney with covering his most private parts. He looked across the room to see a familiar demon...Alastair...sharpening two knives together. Terror filled Moriarty's eyes as Alastair snickered at him.

"James...back so soon?"

Moriarty gulped. "Alistair...long time, no see."

Alastair chuckled sinisterly. "Too long, at least in Hell's time. You were gone for, what? Two weeks on Earth? Down here, it felt like a good 12 or so years. Now, why would you want to leave me down here for so long? Not a letter? Not a phone call? What's wrong? Anxious to leave the nest?"

Moriarty shook his head quickly, fear in his eyes. "Oh no. Never. You know I-"

Alastair interrupted with a glare. "No need to lie. You know how I feel about liars."

A chill went down Moriarty's spine as he squirmed in his gurney, even though he knew he couldn't break free. "I...I thought Crowley made renovations? What happened to the lines?"

Alastair laughed. "He wanted to bring back the classics, just for you boy."

Moriarty panted, nearly scared out of his skin.

"No need to fear. At least, there's no use in it. You'll be here for the rest of eternity. Might as well get used to it. Now where were we last time, do you remember?"

Moriarty is too frightened to answer.

Alastair scoffed as he finished sharpening his knives. "Well, it doesn't matter. We'll just have to make up for lost time." He walked over to a nearby record player and started playing "You're The Devil In Disguise by Elvis Presley".

He grinned sinisterly, walking slowly towards Moriarty.

From that moment on, for many years to come, the sounds of Hell pierced with the screams of James Moriarty.

END


End file.
